


An Affair of the Body and the Mind

by xpertangel



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 105,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpertangel/pseuds/xpertangel
Summary: Professor Branwen and Professor Ebi have always been at each others' throats. Sure, when you tend to teach different sections of the same class, your opinions will vary, but honestly there's nothing those two have in common at all. During office hours, random encounters in the hall, even the occasional remarks in class are always pointed.So then...why was Professor Branwen leaving Professor Ebi's house?
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 789
Kudos: 1013





	1. Slow Mornings and Fast Exits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains material that is intended only for readers that are 18 y/o (eighteen years old) or older. If you are a minor, please do not read this.

The first thing Qrow noticed was the faint scent of cologne, and it wasn’t his own. No, his was usually sweeter, something akin to lavender. Of course, with how often he was found around local bars, he was no longer sure how much of the smell he wore was his own cologne and how much was alcohol. No, this one was some kind of smokier scent, full-bodied, gently coaxing him to open his eyes, but he wouldn’t give in quite yet. As he laid on his side, he inhaled slowly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as the cologne enveloped him with a warming sensation.

There was a slight throbbing in his head from the previous night of drinking, but at least for now his stomach wasn’t doing flips. Still, he didn’t feel like opening his eyes. If the gods were nice to him, it would still be early morning so that he wasn’t blinded, but he wasn’t quite ready to take that chance.

The second thing Qrow noticed was the sheets. They weren’t his either. Qrow had a bad habit of fitful sleeping, and all of the tossing and turning would have caused him to kick them off long before now. His sheets were scratchy and uncomfortable, but they got the job done…sometimes. No, these ones felt like silk, soft and smooth against his nearly naked body. They felt cool as they tickled his skin, but if they were his sheets, the bed would have been unbearably hot. Qrow could feel warmth, but it didn’t come from the sheets.

The third thing Qrow noticed was the man. As Qrow shifted his weight, he heard movement at his back, and the hand that had been casually draped over his waist began to snake around and pull him in. Bare skin gently met his back, and with a soft thud, he felt a forehead resting on the back of his neck. He wondered briefly who it was, though at this point, he’d had enough one-night stands to no longer care. Relationships were never a good thing for him, as much as he wanted them to be, so he had to find other ways to blow off some steam. The man behind him hummed quietly, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy with sleep.

“Hmmm,” he groaned, inhaling sharply before yawning out the next few words. “What time is it?”

Qrow’s eyes barely flickered open as the heavy voice sent minor chills through his body. He looked towards the side of the bed to find his wallet, cell phone, and a clock. He leaned forward, feeling the arm around his waist go lax, as the red numbers proudly declared that the time was 6:45 AM.

“Too early to be awake…” Qrow muttered, closing his eyes and letting out a yawn of his own.

“Then let’s go back to sleep,” the husky voice said once more. Slipping another arm underneath Qrow, the stranger cradled his chest and pulled the two flush against one another. Qrow sighed as he practically melted into the stranger’s embrace. Calloused hands, yet smooth skin elsewhere. What felt like a strong physique held him firmly, yet as though he were fragile at the same time.

Qrow let out a slight moan as he felt soft lips gently press against the back of his neck, working their way to the side. Each lazy kiss felt like it was whispered into Qrow, a secret that only the two of them would share. As wayward lips continued to kiss the faint freckles on Qrow’s neck, the hand on his chest splayed. The thumb rubbed circles on his chest, but they hand clearly had a goal as it began to drift towards his nipple.

When it reached its destination, taking the nipple between a thumb and index finger, Qrow bit his lip in an attempt to stifle another moan. The other hand had withdrawn slightly and was brushing the skin just above the waistband on Qrow’s black boxer-briefs. The slow, light drag of knuckles back and forth was almost rhythmic at this point, but it never went below the seam. The stranger hummed his approval as his mouth continued to chart stars on Qrow’s neck and shoulders, kissing some places, and gently nipping at others. With each passing moment, Qrow surrendered himself more and more to the machinations of increasingly determined hands. Whoever he was, Qrow thanked the universe for such a talented bedfellow.

“This doesn’t feel like sleep,” Qrow chuckled, and the hands paused.

“Do you want me to stop?” the voice asked, and for a brief second, Qrow could’ve sworn he’d heard that voice before. However, the warmth of the stranger and the slight euphoria of being teased and touched so carefully in the morning forced back any notions of familiarity. A smirk crossed Qrow’s lips, and he gently ground his hips back into the groin of the stranger behind him, feeling a hard length press against him, and drawing a deep moan out of the man behind him.

“It seems like you don’t want to stop,” Qrow said, tilting his head slightly to expose more of his neck. “And right now,” Qrow lowered one hand. He placed it on top of the one around his waist, and guided it to his clothed erection, “I don’t want to stop either.”

“Fuck…” the main said, almost biting the word into the base of Qrow’s neck. The man’s hands moved with more purpose, and his kisses were hungrier, no longer a whisper, but more so a declaration. As he nipped and sucked at more of Qrow’s exposed skin, Qrow knew that he’d have one hell of a love bite to cover up, and that was the declaration the man was after.

Normally, Qrow would have been more than eager to pay back the favor, but right now, Qrow instinctively fought off the urge to turn around. He’d never experienced something like this. Any other morning, Qrow would have been eager to mark up his more than capable partner, but the skilled and deft hands had turned him into clay, being worked and kneaded with precision and purpose. The fact that it was a stranger added to the suspense. He wanted to ride this out to the last moment, giving himself completely to the touches with reckless abandon, something he hadn’t done for so long now.

The hand that had been pawing at his groin finally found its way beneath the waistband and gripped his stiff cock. Qrow hissed curses as the hand worked its way up and down his length. Behind him, the man began steadily grinding his own erection against the fabric that separated him from Qrow’s ass, and he sucked harder at the spot he’d been focusing on. Occasionally, he’d pull his hot mouth off of Qrow’s neck, and his sporadic panting sent shivers down Qrow’s spine.

Everywhere the man touched turned to a fire that burned, and a force that quenched the flames. Every graze and nip left Qrow wanting more, and only by receiving more would he be satisfied. As the one hand slid up and down Qrow’s length, the other had moved from his nipple up to the base of Qrow’s neck. The man pulled Qrow slightly closer towards him, while bearing more of his weight into the lithe man. Qrow could feel the man’s rippling physique and strength as he easily arched into him.

Qrow was rapidly reaching the edge. Every simultaneous sensation was quickly overwhelming him, and the man’s grinding became shallow and desperate. Qrow tilted his head back, and his mouth flew open, no longer able to contain the moans he’d been fighting the whole time. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” the man said, but Qrow didn’t register any of the words, as his whole world was turning white. Any moment now and he’d find sweet release.

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to hold on, when the man suddenly forced Qrow’s head to the side, and lips crashed together. Qrow’s chest swelled as he felt the sensation, and his lips parted slightly. However, instead of a breath, he felt the man’s tongue brush against his own, as the kiss deepened, and the man hummed. The man’s very essence threatened to overtake Qrow, but he couldn’t take any more. Suddenly the white, hot pleasure ripped through his entire body, as Qrow came. The intensity stole away any words he had, and he rode out the climax with his mouth screaming without a sound, as his whole body shuddered violently before going limp against the stranger.

It took a few moments for Qrow’s shallow breathing to steady, and his racing heart to calm. His body wasn’t quite his own for a few moments as he laid in the afterglow, his eyes still closed as he was trying to reign in his senses. When his breathing was finally normal, he felt those soft lips on his once more, the tenderness and reverence they initially showed had returned. Each time Qrow felt the ghost of those lips on his, he felt his own spirit rise, waiting and wanting. The man laughed quietly as he raised his clean, free hand to the side of Qrow’s face, and gently rested it on Qrow’s cheek.

“Lucky me,” the man said with warmth and fondness, and Qrow’s eyes opened. As he stared into the content face of Clover Ebi in the faint glow of the early morning, Qrow paused.

“Hey,” he said, frowning a bit.

“Hey yourself,” Clover replied corners of his mouth falling slightly. “You okay?”

“I’m alright,” Qrow said, nonchalantly. “A little surprised but I guess it is what it is.”

“…Surprised?”

“I mean, yeah,” Qrow shrugged inching away from Clover. “You and me, a one-night stand? Sure, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find you attractive…”

“Wait, back up…” Clover muttered, raising himself up on his elbows. “A one-night stand?”

“I don’t regret it, but it’s just kind of a shock,” he continued. “You hate me. Well I guess we’ve all had a good hate-fuck at least once in our lives, right?”

“You thought…”

“And as much fun as this was,” Qrow babbled, getting out of bed and pulling his clothes on steadily. It’s a routine he’s been through dozens of times, though more often than not, he was the one on the receiving end of the little monologue.

It was just a one-night stand.

He just had to blow off steam.

It was just the way he was.

“I really should head out.”

“Qrow wait,” Clover reached out a hand and gently grabbed Qrow’s slender wrist. Qrow looked at him, but when he saw the panic on Clover’s face, he immediately turned back around. Clover’s hand fell away, and Qrow sped up his motions.

“Sorry, but I’ve really got to go,” Qrow stated. He stood up, clothes now on, and personal effects gathered. He opened his phone in the silent room and opened a ride share app. Seven minutes. He could be down in less than that. He started walking towards the door when he heard Clover speak.

“You mean we can’t do this again?”

“…Excuse me?” Qrow could feel his blood begin to boil. For a moment, he forgot just who it was that he slept with. The Golden Man, Mr. Perfect, the Prodigal Poet, the man without any fault. No, he’d been down the long road with someone like that in the past, and it only ended in heartbreak. Back then it also started with a quick fuck. “What, you want to string me along too?”

“W…what?”

“Cut the shit, I’m not buying it,” Qrow raised his voice, turning back towards Clover.

“I don’t…what are you talking about?”

“You thought that since we slept together once that you can just ask me whenever it’s convenient for you? Well guess what pal,” Qrow was almost at a shout. “You’re not the first one to think that, and I’m getting tired of people like you. We fucked. It was good. We had our fun. Now move on. I know I will.”

Qrow slammed the door on his way out. Despite how many times Clover called out his name, Qrow hadn’t stopped or even slowed down as he left Clover’s apartment. He turned towards the stairs first, but as his luck would have it, the door was jammed, no matter how hard he pulled. He made a split-second decision and started walking back off down the hallway. As Qrow rounded the corner, he spotted the elevator and made for the button. The light indicated that it was two floors away.

Qrow looked around, spotting no other exits, and considered chancing the stairs one more time before he let out a sigh of relief as the elevator dinged and the doors creaked open. He heard the door open far behind him in the hallway. Qrow stumbled into the elevator, pressing the “Lobby” button once and the “Close Door” button way more. He hated people who didn’t know when the night was over.

Definitely something left over from his experiences with his ex.

“Qrow please!” Clover called. “Please talk to me!”

Qrow sent out any prayers he could that the door would shut. The footsteps grew closer as Qrow kept pressing the button, begging the damn elevator to hurry up. He was getting angrier with every passing moment, as experiences and faces blended together in his mind. He didn’t want to go off on his coworker right now. It wasn’t his fault if Clover didn’t get the memo about this being a single event.

“Qrow, I need you to talk to me,” Clover’s begging grew closer. “I need y-”

He heard a thud and a loud curse from the hallway as the doors finally closed after what seemed like an eternity. The elevator sped down to the lobby, and Qrow left through the empty entranceway and out onto the street. He opened up his ride share app, and started walking towards the pick-up point at the convenience store across the street. One minute now.

He reached the pickup spot at the same time as the driver, and he opened the door. Before he could hop in, he heard his name one last time and looked up to see a disheveled Clover standing on the opposite street corner, and it was haunting.

Clover’s shirt wasn’t buttoned, and neither were his pants. He had only one shoe on and had completely foregone socks of any kind. For the first time since they had met, Clover looked truly scared and hurt. The confident, cocky pretty boy looked as if a stiff wind would break him. His right hand clutched at his chest, and his left was balling the hem of his shirt inside his fist. Clover’s breathing was heavy, and his eyes were the slightest tinge of red.

“Qrow…please…”

Qrow sighed, hesitating for a moment, but when Clover started crossing the street, he snapped out of it and got in the car.

“Please go.”

The driver nodded and sped off.

When Qrow finally stepped into his own apartment, he beelined for the shower, and collapsed in the hot spray, clothes still completely on. He wasn’t sure what was worse…reliving memories of his ex…or the look of Clover as he got in the car. Qrow ignored his phone ringing on the top of the toilet outside the shower, and gripped his head tightly in both of his hands as he curled up on the floor beneath the still-warming water.

“Well…fuck…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here. This chapter has been revised from it's original form, and has been posted as of 2/18/2020. My apologies for the delay and thanks in advance for your patience and understanding.
> 
> You can contact me here: https://smol--jelly.tumblr.com/


	2. Meticulous Schedules and Sloppy Planning

Professor Branwen, venerated English professor at Beacon University and master with the pen, was the worst conversationalist on the planet. Every moment had him fretting over, dreading, and actively avoiding any opportunity to speak to Clover after that morning. He hated clingy hookups, and try as he might, his damn head wouldn’t shut up. Qrow’s mind was incapable of thinking of anything other than the usually handsome Clover Ebi in complete disarray, with his messy brown hair and eyes that threatened to weep at a millisecond’s notice, tense jaw and slightly parted, but surprisingly soft lips. It wouldn’t stop thinking about the hand clutching his heart to hold it together, or the one wringing the life out of his poor shirt. His brain was buzzing with the thought of those hands and lips tracing patterns into every inch of him, desperate to mark him in the permanent ink of Clover, but with the care unknown to him.

In the span of one morning, Clover had become a walking contradiction to Qrow. A richly boisterous voice that only knew how to disagree with him, and soft whispers that only knew how to praise him. An imposing frame that intimidated him in meetings and debates, and that desperately clung onto him in the dimly lit light of a solitary bedroom. A complex mind that sought to shut Qrow down at every turn, and one so single-mindedly focused on worshiping him in the world encompassed within silky sheets and a California king bed. A cocky attitude that’s irreverence for Qrow knew no bounds, and a cock that stood at attention so very clearly for Qrow.

While thousands of questions and thoughts festered in his mind, he did his best to ignore them. Qrow had played these kinds of games outside of work for far too long. He was being shut down and thwarted in the department time after time in favor of one of Professor Ebi’s initiatives, and he wasn’t about to wind up a pawn or a plaything for amusement. For the time being, Qrow wanted to avoid contact with Clover until the message finally sunk in. He decided that the best course of action would be to dedicate himself more to his professorial duties during the day and drown out the nagging with different amber liquids at night. Luckily, his longstanding friendship with the department head, Dr. Ozpin, had paid off when it came to scheduling. Qrow never had to teach a class before noon, so he could still function during the days after blurry nights.

Of course, being friends with Dr. Ozpin also afforded him one other luxury: easy access to Clover’s schedule. As much as he didn’t want to think about the man, he needed to know where he was so that he didn’t have to see him either. Unfortunately, being in the same department, and teaching many of the same classes, meant that they would often be in the same building on campus, so Qrow needed to be prepared. In order to avoid him, he had to study him, but every passing moment just continued to feed his unwelcomed and confusing thoughts. Qrow’s head hurt. His chest ached. He was angry, confused, and tired above all else, though he wasn’t sure at this point if the main focus and instigator of his emotions was Clover, himself, or…a problem for another day.

He stared at the map of the building online, comparing his own classrooms and times with Clover’s. Qrow made note that Clover had more morning classes, around 8 A.M. and 10 A.M. depending on the day, while Qrow himself had classes during the afternoons. The only real high-risk period of running into one another was Qrow’s 5 P.M. lecture on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, since Clover taught in the same room right before he did. There was 15 minutes between classes, so if Qrow showed up a little bit late then, he was sure Clover already be cleared out. Tuesdays and Thursdays weren’t a danger though, since Qrow taught his class in a different building on those days. A sigh of relief escaped at the prospect of a day where he didn’t have to be so tense. If he had to keep his guard up the whole week, he would have to start spiking his coffee.

No. Wait. If Ozpin found out about that…or _Glynda_ …Qrow shuddered.

As the sun set on that Sunday afternoon in October, Qrow double-checked the path he meticulously charted, and prepped himself for what would surely be a taxing day.

Just as he planned, Qrow woke up about an hour before noon. He clambered out of bed, tugged on a grey button-down shirt, inlaid with black vine patterns, and his black slacks. Stumbling to the bathroom, he turned on the sink and splashed some water in his face before reaching for his toothbrush and toothpaste. He continued his morning ritual, which he completed with a slight spritzing of his cologne. After a quick once-over in the mirror, he judged himself presentable, and prepared to leave for his first class.

His old car took two attempts to start up. His sister taunted him every time she swung by his apartment. “You really should either take that to the shop, or trade it up, baby brother,” she would say. He’d disagree, and she’d just shoot him another disapproving look and take a sip from her wine glass. When the engine roared to life, Qrow sighed and uttered a wish to the universe that he’d be able to avoid Clover.

The first class went off without a hitch, and he got to his second one with no sign of that Professor Ebi anywhere. Qrow offered up his thanks, as his luck usually never got him this far. He was surprised that Clover hadn’t stumbled into the “wrong room” or “forgotten something from a morning class.”

While the first class passed easily, Qrow’s anxiety only increased as the hour ticked by for the second. When he left the room, there were a myriad of faces in the hall. He wasn’t a tall man by any means, but he could still see above the heads of several of the students, and his paranoia kicked into overdrive. Any time he saw a head of short brown hair, he panicked. After about the twentieth realization that not every person was Clover, Qrow became frustrated with himself. He hid in a coffee shop just off campus to kill time. None of his students had made any appointments to meet with him, and his office hours weren’t until 6 P.M. so he had no other obligations.

Speaking of which, maybe he’d be able to go back to his office and squeeze in a nap. Qrow shook his head, remembering the state of his assigned room. There were piles upon piles of books sitting on the couch, so he couldn’t lay down, and his desk barely had enough free space to put anything down. He had a desk chair and two armchairs, but he couldn’t place those next to one another and lay across them because of the arms. Maybe he needed another bookshelf so he could clear more space. It wouldn’t be out of place, since all of the walls of his office were already lined with shelves, but the only place left for the new shelf would be between his desk and the door, so students wouldn’t be able to see him right away when they came in. As attractive as the idea was, he was still a teacher, and didn’t want students to turn away because of an antisocial professor’s overcrowded office. For now, he’d suffer through the lack of space.

As planned, he showed up to his 5 P.M. class three minutes late. He peeked into the room quickly, and not seeing Clover anywhere, he strode in. “Good evening, class,” he started. “How is everyone doing?” There were a few groans around the room as Qrow made his way to the empty desk at the front of the room. He sat down and took a customary deep breath before starting class.

The smoky scent from Saturday morning greeted him, making Qrow immediately regret his course of action. He paused, daring not to breathe or to speak. That same scent that enveloped him and cradled him in comfort was now taunting him, teasing him, and threatening even with its subtle remnants to flood his mind. Qrow hesitated before standing back up. “Actually, who wants to have class outside today?”

As the students made their way out into the quad outside the building, Qrow mentally cursed himself. He’d been doing so well so far, so how could he lose to something so small? If his composure threatened to fall apart at the simplest of reminders, then perhaps he was in more danger than he originally calculated. Once he grabbed a seat on a low wall, Qrow pulled out his laptop and pressed the power button.

Nothing.

He pressed it again, only for the same response.

“I…uh…well…my laptop is dead,” Qrow said, “so we’re going to do something a little different today. Anyone here know what a chain poem is?” Before long, all of the students in the circle were laughing as papers were being passed around. Qrow, in need of a good laugh, decided to participate as well. When the poems were read aloud, scarcely could a student get through three lines before bursting into laughter. Around the ninth or tenth poem, a shyer boy with black hair stopped suddenly.

“Why does every poem mention a $50 gift card to Beaconbucks?”

The class howled with laughter when the redheaded girl next to him stuck her hand up, a huge smirk decorated her face. Qrow could scarcely hold in his own laughter at that point. He glanced down at his watch, before calling out to the class.

“Alright everyone, before you all leave, remember that portfolio proposals are due next class. You can always change them later, but remember it should be 2 short stories, 1 longer one, and four poems,” Qrow announced. “All I want right now is themes, or if you have them figured out, I want to know your ideas for each piece. Remember, nothing is set in stone yet, but you should have these things figured out sooner rather than later.”

He waved his hand, and the students got up to leave. As Qrow packed his things, he heard a noise behind him. He turned around slowly to see a girl with long black hair, a black bow, and piercing yellow eyes. She wore a giant white sweatshirt with the black outline of a sleeping cat in the center of the chest. The girl, Blake Belladonna, hardly ever spoke up in class, though she always seemed to take in every word Qrow said.

“Professor Branwen,” she started. “Can I come to your office? I have some questions about the portfolio proposal.”

“Miss Belladonna, of course,” Qrow replied.

Together, the two slowly made their way back up the stairs of the building towards Qrow’s office. Apparently, Blake wanted to change the composition of the portfolio. She wanted to substitute out poetry for more long form fiction, but not just that. She wanted to write more long-form fiction to replace the entire portfolio.

“The portfolios will already be as long as a novella anyways, so could I just work on that?” Blake asked.

“I don’t know Blake, I’d have to think about it,” Qrow said as they rounded the corner. “Do you have an early draft of the proposal for me to look over?”

“Oh, yes, one moment,” Blake said as she reached into her bag. The two continued down the hall, and Qrow reached into his pocket for his office keys as they approached his office. They were about ten feet away when the door next to his opened up, and Qrow froze in place.

“Hello, Blake. Qrow.”

The voice came shakier than he thought possible from Clover.

“We’re a bit busy right now, _Professor Ebi_ ,” Qrow practically hissed, but Clover was prepared.

“Blake, is it alright if I speak with Professor Branwen alone for a minute? I won’t take too much of his time, departmental emergency,” Clover explained, the steadiness returned to his tone.

“We’re in the middle of a meeting right now. It’s office hours,” Qrow explained.

“No, by all means, please go ahead,” Blake said. “I can’t find my proposal, but I know it’s in here somewhere. I can look for it out here while you talk.” As she said this, Blake slid down against the wall and pulled her laptop out of her bag before clacking away. She was too preoccupied to notice Qrow glaring daggers and Clover above her head.

“Thank you, Blake,” Clover smiled. “I promise this won’t be too long. Then you can go on your way.”

“We can speak out here,” Qrow said curtly.

“I insist we speak in your office. Don’t want students to be in on department business,” Clover fired back.

“It’s okay, Professor Branwen, really, this might take a little,” Blake smiled, and a pit opened up in Qrow’s stomach.

The two men stepped into the office, and Qrow heard his door shut behind him. How the hell could he forget about rescheduling office hours? He had been too careless. He forgot to pay attention to his own personal schedule outside of class hours. Suddenly, Qrow was all too painfully aware of Clover’s presence. As they walked what seemed like miles to his desk, Qrow could hear the weight behind each of Clover’s steps, if you could call them that. He was one to walk and talk proudly, but the man was shuffling his feet in a somber manner.

Even though he was facing away from the taller man, he could still feel Clover watching him with an intensity and fascination, or was it fear? Every breath Qrow took was labored, and his heart hammered in his chest. Every second brought words dangerously close to spilling out of Qrow’s mouth without discretion or proper thought, but he wouldn’t unload like that. He wanted…well he didn’t know what he wanted, but he would get nowhere if he dominated the entire conversation by spewing bit after confusing bit trying to articulate the storm in his mind.

Eager to place some barrier between the two of them, Qrow swiftly made his way to his desk, and gestured towards one of the seats on the other side as he sat down.

It wasn’t until he heard Clover sit down that Qrow finally looked up at him.

By the gods he wished he hadn’t.

Clover’s put-together persona that he wore around campus all day was melting away, and it made Qrow mad. It was as if he had been replaced by some shamed child, or even a puppy that knew it did something wrong while Qrow’s wasn’t home, head low and gaze averted. If anyone should be making that face, it should be him, but he would be damned if he appeared like that in front of Clover, under any circumstances. Another minute passed, and Clover opened and closed his mouth several times, as though he was searching for words and lost them at the moment of their creation. Perhaps it was nerve, or perhaps he had simply forgotten how to speak. Any other time, Qrow would have laughed at his colleague in this predicament, but his patience was growing thinner by the second.

Clover’s hands started fidgeting again. He held something which Qrow couldn’t make out, but Clover incessantly rubbed and fidgeted with the small treasure in his hands. After polishing it enough for it to shine for eternity, he withdrew his hands from its surface, and held it gently between his thumb and index finger. It was the four-leaf clover pin that he normally wore on his lapel. The fluorescent light reflected off of the surface, going haywire every time Clover tilted the pin, but his gaze and focus never left the pin.

“Well?”

Clover looked up, startled. Even Qrow slightly winced at the harshness of the word.

“Sorry…I had something prepared, but you don’t need to be lectured by me…”

“Really? You were going to chastise me?”

“Gods, this is why you’re so hard to talk to.”

“Excuse me for being pissed off that you can’t take a hint.”

“Oh I thought I got the hint well enough,” Clover replied.

“Clearly not, since you’re still here. Look, I may not remember how I got to your house, or much from the night, but I hate to break it to you, I do that a lot,” Qrow shrugged. He crossed his arms and kicked his legs up on the desk.

“You…you don’t remember?”

Qrow rolled his eyes. “Of course I don’t,” he said. He placed his feet back on the floor and slammed his hands on the small, vacant area of the mahogany desk. “But what I do know is how cruel you are. You’ve fucked me over at this damn university before, and you’re not above trying to make me some plaything outside of work, clearly.”

_No._

“Qrow, I…”

“I’ve slept with enough straight men to know when I’m an ‘experiment’ to them, but you just want a convenient hole that you can dump for a wife and kids the first chance you get.”

_Stop. Let him speak._

“I don’t think yo-”

“I don’t give a damn what you think,” Qrow spat. “I know your type. I’ve seen this song and dance before, and I’m not playing along. Get the hell out of my office.”

_He deserves a chance to explain himself._

Clover stood up; eyes fixed on the floor. He lingered, as though his shoes were weighed down, anchoring him to his place.

“You said…”

Clover stopped.

“You said you…”

He stopped again.

Qrow’s anger had subsided, replaced with an insatiable curiosity. He sat forward on his seat, perhaps a little too much, as his balance on the edge of it was quite precarious. What had he said? Why the hesitation? Confusion, pain, and something else was painted all over Clover Ebi. For a faint second, Qrow could have sworn he heard the sound of something breaking. He brushed it off when Clover locked eyes with him, all emotion draining from him.

“Never mind,” the man said, turning to leave. He looked back one last time over his shoulder, resolve steeled as his next words chilled Qrow. “And you think I’m cruel…”

The door opened up, and Qrow’s head fell into his hands.

_Fuck, I need a drink._

The sound of someone clearing their throat made Qrow jump, as he looked up to see a concerned Blake staring at him, head cocked.

“Is this still a good time, Professor Branwen? I can always come back another day,” she offered.

“No, now’s fine.”

* * *

Blake hummed as she walked back from Professor Branwen’s office. He’d given her permission to go ahead and write the novella for her portfolio, as long as she’d agreed to turn in at least two separate poems outside of the portfolio to show her versatility and results of studies in his class. She opened the door to her dorm room and flopped down beside a sleepy lump of blankets and long, golden hair.

“So how was my uncle doing?” the lump asked.

“Well,” Blake started, and her phone immediately buzzed. It was an email from Professor Branwen, addressed to all of his classes.

_Hello students,_

**_Effective immediately_ ** _, my office hours will be altered. My apologies, but something has come up that has forced me to make this change in order to avoid moving to by-appointment visits only. My top priority is you all, so please, don’t wait outside if you see other professors inside or outside of my office. I encourage you to take charge of your own education, and you can only do so by being assertive. We only have a semester together, but my colleagues have much longer to chat with me. That being said, office hours will now be held at the following times:_

_Monday, Wednesday, Friday: 8 A.M. – 10 A.M., 4 P.M. – 4:45 P.M._

_Tuesday, Thursday: 10 A.M. – 12 P.M. (Noon)_

_If you cannot make these times, you can email me for an appointment._

_Thanks,_

_Prof. Branwen_

“I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. This chapter has been revised from it's original form. I hope you enjoy the new version. Thank you for your patience and understanding.
> 
> -Jelly
> 
> You can always reach me at my tumblr as well, where I post links to every update, as well as give sneak peeks when the chapters are completed (before I post them): https://smol--jelly.tumblr.com/


	3. Arranged Conversations and Surprise Interruptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm in need of a little assistance when it comes to turning out chapters, so please read the notes at the end for more information! Thanks!

After two weeks of avoiding Clover, Qrow decided he needed to talk to someone. Sure, he was allowed to do what he pleased within reason, but all of the sneaking around had made him feel childish. Try as he might, Qrow still couldn’t remember anything from the night that had been wiped from his mind. Qrow wasn’t even sure if he was in the right anymore after Clover’s words in his office were etched into his brain. So after two weeks of sitting and stewing in his own imagination, drinking and waking up for 8 A.M. office hours which were hellish hungover, and ducking away at even the barest suspicion of Clover Ebi, Qrow needed to talk to someone.

As he walked into the restaurant for lunch, Qrow looked around and saw a hand wave him over. He made his way towards the already crowded table, which had been served drinks and appetizers as a reminder of how late he was. Qrow offered up a friendly smile, which was returned by only two of the table’s three occupants.

“You’re late, Qrow.”

“I know.”

“You were the one who asked us here.”

“I know.”

“And you’re late.”

Qrow stripped off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair before sitting down. He leaned forward, crossing his arms and resting his elbows on the table and taking a deep breath before he looked around the table at the concerned faces of his friends, Summer and Taiyang, and his sister. Qrow had been a loner ever since he was a kid, but everything changed when he met Summer Rose and Taiyang Xiao Long. They grew on him like mold and were just as hard to get rid of. Eventually, he gave up rejecting their friendship and just let them do as they please, as much as he would deny doing so.

“Well, thanks for coming,” Qrow said.

At first, Qrow had thought Summer to be their voice of reason, but he soon learned just how mischievous the lady was. She’d snuck into every “off limits” area of the campus within her first two months of school, and he was pretty sure she knew the guard rotation like she knew her own name at that point. Tricky thing about her was that she never seemed to get caught, and now that Qrow was a teacher and knew just how secure those places were, he had to give her a lot more credit.

Qrow and Taiyang met through Summer. Out of the trio, he probably had the hardest time pinning down what his relationship was with Taiyang. They were friends first, then they almost hooked up but Qrow wasn’t about to punch that card like the rest of the table eventually did. They were brothers-in-law for a hot second, and colleagues for a while too. Sure, Tai’s kids still called him Uncle Qrow, a fact true for one of them, but he still didn’t know what to call their connection.

Then there was Raven.

As much as Qrow and his sister “hated” each other, they’d been through enough together to know that the other had their back. Whether it was the death of their parents, their brief time period being homeless, Qrow’s binges, or Raven’s marriage, pregnancy, and subsequent divorce, they both stuck it out together. Qrow knew that his sister struggled, and he just wanted her to find happiness in her own way. Perhaps she felt the same way about him.

“So, what’s this about?” Summer said as she reached across the table and gently placed her hand on Qrow’s forearm. “Did you get into another fight?”

“No,” Qrow shook his head. “Well…maybe…”

“If you did, I’ll kick the guy’s ass for you,” she laughed. “We all know I will.”

They did. She would. It was scary whenever it happened.

“Please don’t, he’s still my colleague,” Qrow said. “I don’t want my boss to come after me after the sudden disappearance of one of his vaunted professors.”

“Qrow, I swear if you brought us here just to rant about budget numbers or class agendas,” Raven rolled her eyes. “Get to the point. Our lunch is already coming, and I don’t feel like putting it on hold for your petty professorial bullshit.”

“Raven…” Summer said, voice low.

“No, don’t ‘Raven’ me,” she said as she sat up straighter. “I’ll save us a few steps. Qrow doesn’t remember anything about something that’s probably his fault, and then instead of apologizing, he blamed the other person and didn’t let them speak before dismissing them. Am I wrong?”

“That’s…” Qrow rubbed the back of his neck, “…do I really do that often?”

“That time with the waitress?”

“Well that was…”

“What about that bar brawl with Winter?”

“She started it.”

“Or with Ja-”

“Fuck him. That wasn’t my fault, but I get it.” Qrow sat back in his chair. “This time though, she’s…not wrong…well actually I remember half of it, but it’s not important.”

“Oh no, I’m not helping you if you don’t want to actually tell us the full story,” Raven said. She started collecting her things, making ready to leave as she continued. “I’ve seen enough of these clown shows, you guys have fun with my baby brother.”

“Raven, please.” This time it was Taiyang who spoke up. If there was anyone Raven had difficulty refusing, it was Taiyang. It was true when they were young, and it was true now. She muttered something under her breath, sat back down, and Taiyang continued. “Qrow might seriously need our help. Though I gotta admit, you two are so alike sometimes, it’s hilarious.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” they both asked in unison.

“…My point exactly. Anyways, she’s right Qrow. You have to tell us everything if you want us to help you,” Taiyang smiled. “No judgement, we promise.”

“I’ll judge.”

“Okay fine, no judgement from Summer and I.”

Qrow took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and then he spoke. He told them about the night he didn’t remember, and the morning after. He was interrupted a few times by their waiter bringing more drinks, their meals, and the occasional question from Summer and Taiyang. “And now I’ve just been avoiding him ever since,” Qrow stated. “Am I out of line?”

Raven snorted, taking a sip of her drink while the other two thought it over.

“Well, I don’t know,” Summer replied. “You really didn’t give him a chance to talk.”

“Kind of sounds like you just yelled at him until he left,” Taiyang agreed. He raised a hand to his chin, deep in thought for a moment. “So, this is why you changed your office hours, not my daughter’s girlfriend?”

“What are you even talking about?” Qrow asked, confused.

“Yang sent me the email and told me that Blake was worried that she upset you somehow,” Taiyang explained. “Shy girl, and you sent that right after her meeting with you, of course she made that conclusion.”

“Oh god…it did sound like I blamed her, didn’t I?” Qrow recoiled as he thought about his terse message about changing his hours.

“A little bit,” Raven interjected. “I guess this brings your apology list to up to three.”

“Three? I thought it was two.”

“No, I’m on there too for being forced to listen to your fuck-ups,” Raven laughed.

“Look if you think I’m going to apologize to you or him, you’ve got another thing coming,” Qrow said. “I will talk to Blake though, that was unintentional.”

“You should talk to him, for real this time,” Summer suggested. “Who knows, he might actually tell you something.”

This time, it was Qrow’s turn to snort. He heard footsteps approach for the fiftieth time. Did the waiter really not have anything else to do? They had their food and full glasses, and they’d already been asked twice if their meal was okay. When they stopped at Qrow’s left, Summer and Taiyang looked up to dismiss them.

“Please. As if Mr. Perfect Professor Clover would tell me anything.”

“You think I’m perfect?”

The choked sound that came out of Qrow’s mouth was borderline unholy.

It wasn’t the waiter.

Standing next to the table, was Clover himself. He seemed like he was out for a casual day, judging by his deck shoes and rather tight blue jeans. His white button down was stretched across his chest, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. The shirt looked like it was a size or two smaller than the recipient needed, accentuating his frame. The four-leaf clover pin was on his breast pocket, the glare reflecting directly at Qrow. He cocked his head to the side, running a hand through his spiked brown hair.

“If you do, you don’t really show it,” Clover frowned.

“Oh my god.”

Raven burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, and you are?” Taiyang asked.

“Oh, sorry, introductions are in order,” Clover smiled at the table. “Assuming he was just talking about me, judging from that ‘Mr. Perfect Professor’ comment, I’m Clover Ebi.”

“Why me?”

“Oh my god, Qrow,” Summer giggled. “Only you.”

Taiyang reached out a hand, which Clover took and shook with enthusiasm. “Since my friends here seem to be otherwise occupied, I’m Taiyang,” he said. He gestured to the two ladies, introducing them in turn. “This is Summer, and that’s Raven, Qrow’s sister.”

“I thought Qrow was an only child.”

Raven punched Qrow in the arm, immediately snapping him out of his funk. “Hey!”

“Did he never mention me?” Raven inquired seriously. “I’m hurt, brother.”

“No, but I just assumed he was since he doesn’t seem to play well with others in the department,” Clover laughed. It was hollow, forced, and a bit sarcastic. “A bit of a loner, makes it hard to approach him sometimes.”

“That’s our baby bird,” Raven said, a wicked grin creeping across her face. She threw her arm around Qrow, gripping so tightly her nails dug into his shoulder. “Do you have any embarrassing stories about him from classes?”

“Nothing quite like the ones you’re probably wanting, though most of the stories have me being embarrassed instead of him,” Clover rubbed the back of his neck. His face seemed to turn slightly red at the question, so Qrow could only imagine the terrible things Clover was thinking about. “What about you? There must be something you guys can tell me about Mr. Famous here.”

“Oh dear, I have enough dirt on him to bury him 20 yards underground, but I haven’t got the time today, and neither do you,” Raven answered. “But I’d love to swap stories sometime.”

“Actually,” Summer cut in. “Do you have a moment real quick Clover?”

_Please be no._

“Yes, I do.”

_Fuck._

“I was supposed to meet some friends for lunch, but it looks like they’re not here yet,” Clover explained. “What can I do for you?”

“Qrow here would like to say something,” Taiyang offered, picking up on where Summer was going with this. “Isn’t that right, Qrow?”

“He does?”

“I would?”

Apparently, that was the wrong answer, as he received a swift kick in the shin from a rather hard toed shoe.

“Ouch!”

“Oh, come on, Qrow, you’ve been talking about him for almost the past 20 minutes, the least you can do is talk to him now that he’s here,” Taiyang said.

“He was what now?”

Qrow flushed with embarrassment.

“I hate you, Tai.”

“I gotta say though,” Raven cooed. “I know you told us you spent the night with him, but you didn’t tell us he was this hot! What a catch!”

If Qrow turned any redder, he’d make the color itself jealous. He looked up at Clover, who seemed to be struggling with the same situation, and losing the battle. He cleared his throat and started fidgeting slightly in place.

“Actually,” Clover spoke up. “We didn’t do anything. He was too drunk, and there’s no way I would to do that to him or anyone in his condition.”

“A hottie and a gentleman,” Raven smirked. “You better snatch him up before I do.”

“We aren’t like that…” Clover answered, trailing off slightly. “No, I just happened to see him leaving a bar that night. He was drunk, distraught, and far away from home.”

“Sounds like him,” Taiyang sighed.

“But we didn’t do anything. He wanted to, but I told him no,” Clover explained. “I told him if he still felt that way in the morning, then maybe, but I wasn’t going to take advantage of him.”

“You expect me to believe I started that?”

“Oh Qrow,” Clover sighed again. “You really still don’t remember, do you?”

Qrow’s mind reeled as he heard the words coming from Clover. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or terrified. On the one hand, they hadn’t slept together when Qrow was drunk, which was definitely points in Clover’s favor. On the other hand…Qrow was dying to know what he said. Between Clover’s words in the office and now, Qrow was still missing way too much of the picture here. He could only imagine the horrible, demeaning things he’d said. No…that didn’t make sense…there were still too many things that made no sense to Qrow. But what he knew remained the same: Clover Ebi was a mystery to him. A frustratingly, attractive mystery.

“He’s a blank slate, Mr. Ebi,” Summer cut in before Qrow could say anything. “Sorry about him, sometimes he gets like that. He won’t remember no matter how much time passes. But you can tell us!”

“No he can’t!” Qrow was almost shouting at this point. “If I can’t remember, you guys don’t get to know before I do, and I don’t want to know!”

“Well I think that’s a shame,” Clover said, tone flat and cold.

“Don’t you have a lunch to get to?”

“Qrow, come on, you need to apologize. Sounds like Mr. Ebi here tried to look out for you, and you’ve been nothing but rude to him in return,” Summer scolded.

“I thought you were on my side,” Qrow moaned.

“Well now I have new information, and he seems a delight,” she smiled back at him.

“Thank you, ma’am, but Qrow and I have never seen eye to eye, so I don’t want to make him feel more uncomfortable by fishing an apology out from him,” Clover rested a hand on his hip. “That being said, I would still like a word alone with him. I need to clear the air, and something’s been bothering me for the past few weeks now. Would that be alright?”

“No, it would not b- OW! Stop doing that!”

“Go, or I’m going to beat you up,” Summer glared at him. “You’re an adult, go act like one.”

“Says the lady who kicks people in the shi- OW! I’m going! Fuck,” Qrow groaned as he stood up. He’d definitely have bruises. Summer kicked hard, even if she didn’t mean to, and for the love of everything why were her shoes so hard? Qrow stood up and made a gesture with his arm. “By all means, Mr. Perfect, lead the way.”

Clover smiled and turned to walk towards another table. They weaved between tables and chairs, shoes clacking against the hard wood floor with every step. Qrow could still hear the snickering and chatter behind him from his soon-to-be-disowned friends and sister at his table. Of course Clover would show up, why wouldn’t he? Qrow just couldn’t catch one break, ever. He finally stepped out to ask others for advice, and this was his reward. Thanks a lot, universe.

They reached another table with five chairs around it, and Clover pulled out a seat for Qrow, before pulling one out for himself. The two men were silent in the otherwise noisy restaurant, staring at one another in an uncomfortable fashion, years of hesitation stopping either of them from talking. After a while, Clover finally spoke up.

“Qrow, I’m sorry for ambushing you,” he started.

“Alright.”  
“I’m not done, please,” Clover sighed. “Look, in my defense, it’s so hard for me to talk to you. You think I’m out to get you all the time, and I’m really not. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“What do you mean?” Qrow said, leaning towards Clover in his seat. He noticed Clover reflexively lean away.

“We’re colleagues. When we succeed, our students succeed, and we can get more funding,” Clover continued. “You don’t have an enemy in me. I just want to help.”

“Excuse me if I have a tough time believing that,” Qrow spat back. “You haven’t exactly given me a reason to trust you.”

“I’ve tried, but I suppose you’ve been interpreting them differently than I intended,” Clover replied, never wavering. “Also, you’ve put words in my mouth several times now, and I guess you’d have trouble getting my message when you’re also the one who is speaking for me.”

“I’ve never done that.”

“Ever since I’ve been working at the university you said that I claimed to be aiming to take your job,” Clover started. “Which, again, isn’t true.”

“You’ve taken over so many of my programs and initiatives, that it’s pretty much like you’re coming for my position,” Qrow reasoned. “What am I supposed to think.”

“That maybe someone wants to help you out, so you have more free time on your plate and that you don’t look stressed out all of the time?” Clover ventured.

“No one does anything for free,” Qrow said in return.

“You said that I thought sleeping with you was an experiment,” Clover pointed out. “Which by the way, I don’t believe at all.”

“Yeah, sure pal, I’ve had enough straight guys tell me that I was their ‘exception’ or ‘experiment’ and you’re just another one of those guys,” Qrow shot.

“But I never said those words at all,” Clover said, chest puffing up a little bit. “I would never say that to anyone. Besides, I’m gay, I thought you knew that.”

“First I’m hearing of it,” Qrow uncrossed his arms and his gaze fell to the floor. “Well…I’m sorry for making assumptions.”

“Look, I’m not here to dig into your past or bring up something that’s obviously painful for you, but you have to know that I’m not out here trying to get you,” Clover spoke softly. He reached out a hand, as if he were about to comfort Qrow, but when Qrow withdrew slightly, Clover lowered his hand and placed it on his own knee. “But what I can do is extend an olive branch, because honestly this is getting ridiculous.”

“What did you have in mind?” Qrow asked, perking up slightly.

“You said I take too many of your programs, but I want you to still enjoy them. I signed on to help and you dropped out of each one right away,” Clover said. “This one seemed like the one you were always most excited about back when I first joined, and I’ve done all of the prep work, but I don’t have another instructor yet.”

Clover held out a white piece of paper with fancy lettering and a few images on it. It was his old flier for THE winter semester study abroad trip to Atlas. It was one of his favorite programs to go on with students, sightseeing and instructing, and using the local architecture and scenery for inspiration for artistic and written works. It had been two years since he last been on the trip.

“You…you want me to come?”

“Yes,” Clover smiled at him. “I’m still leading it now, because I’m from Atlas, but I really think that it would be good for our work relationship if you came on the trip. We really need to start burying the hatchet, and I think that this could work.”

“What does Ozpin think?” Qrow asked immediately.

“I’ve already proposed the idea to him, and he immediately agreed. It seems like he’s just as tired of our antagonistic relationship as we both are, or at least I am,” Clover laughed, this time it was full, soft, and real. Clover’s real laugh was warm and inviting, and even Qrow couldn’t help but crack a smile as the man sitting beside him was positively beaming. Normally, Qrow had only seen Clover’s smiles as something condescending, but something about this one in particular seemed to bear no ill will, and no false pretenses. It was genuine.

“Well…I’ll have to think about it,” Qrow paused. “But…thank you, Clover. I realize I’m not exactly the easiest person to get along with.”

“Not even remotely.”

“Uh huh…but still, I guess I’ve been a little overdramatic…and…”

“A bit of a martyr,” Clover laughed again, and this time, Qrow playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Call me what you will, but I suppose I owe you an apology,” Qrow finally admitted. The more he spoke, he could feel the weight physically lifting from his shoulders and chest. “You didn’t deserve me yelling at you or jumping to conclusions or projecting my shit onto you. And…thank you for not…you know…that night. But I’m not apologizing for the morning.”

“I didn’t expect you to, but I’m sorry for not talking to you about it properly.”

“Well…we both could have talked properly earlier on,” Qrow admitted. “If your friends are still going to be a minute, you can come wait with us. I’m sure that they’d be thrilled to have you.”

“I would like that, but it seems like your table has doubled since you left,” Clover stated as he looked past Qrow. Qrow followed Clover’s line of sight, taking note of the new attendants. In their short absence, Qrow’s nieces, Blake, and a girl with strikingly white hair had joined the adults at their table. “I suppose I can wait here, unless you have standing room.”

“It doesn’t bother me. Actually, it would probably be good if you came over,” Qrow explained. “I still owe another person an apology.”

As they stood up, Clover extended a hand to Qrow, which Qrow accepted. What he hadn’t expected was for it to be a trap, as Clover pulled Qrow in for a quick, but strong embrace. Qrow stood, dazed for a few seconds while he tried to register what was happening. He felt one of Clover’s arms around his shoulders, and the other snaked around his lower back, which pulled the two flush together. Just as he was about to pull away, he heard the low whisper of Clover’s voice in his ear, sending chills up his neck and down his spine. “I mean it,” he said. “I really am sorry. Please let me help, or at the very least make it up to you.”

They separated after another moment, both clearly embarrassed as Qrow felt his face flush, and he saw Clover’s do the same. They both averted their eyes, and Qrow nodded.

“Okay.”

As they made their way back to the table, Qrow was immediately intercepted by the younger of his two nieces shouting his name and throwing herself at Qrow for a customary tackle hug she liked to give. When she was younger, Qrow could just pick her up with one arm and she’d laugh and laugh, but as she got older, she could actually tackle him if she put enough force behind it. Qrow waved hello to Yang, and smiled at Blake and the white-haired girl, whose name was apparently Weiss. Qrow introduced himself, and he noticed her visible frown.

_What a rude way to react to someone you just met._

“I’ve heard about you,” she explained. “My sister is Winter Schnee.”

_Oh._

“But don’t worry, she told me she won, so I have no problems with you,” Weiss giggled, a hand covering her mouth.

“Hey that brawl was a draw at worst,” Qrow started, causing everyone to laugh. He felt Clover’s hand clap his shoulder.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there, Professor Ebi,” Weiss said, nodding her head. “Hello!”

“No need to be so formal all the time, Weiss, you’re having lunch with your friends,” Clover smiled. “And Blake, Qrow and I owe you and apology.”

Blake turned to face the two of them, confusion and something else written on her face. “For what, Professor Ebi?”

“Well, you see,” Qrow began, “it’s been brough to my attention that my email was…poorly worded.”

“Professor Branwen here-”

“Oh lord, my brother doesn’t deserve that much respect, Clover,” Raven interjected.

“…Qrow here has been avoiding me because he has late paperwork,” Clover continued. “We’re both leading the winter semester’s Atlas Study Abroad for the English department this year, and he didn’t want me to figure out that it wasn’t done.”

“Really?” Yang laughed. “Knowing my uncle, you’ll still be waiting on it.”

“Oh, I am,” Clover said. “But I’m making sure to keep him on a tight schedule. I asked him to rearrange his office hours so that we could work together in the evenings to prepare for the trip.”

“Y-yeah,” Qrow lied. “I’m sorry if my message seemed personal, I was just a little upset that I couldn’t cover my own ass.”

Blake thought for a moment, before she perked up. “Thanks, Professor. You can make it up to me by telling me I don’t have to write any poems at all,” Blake said.

“Now hold on a moment…” Qrow sighed. Everyone at the table started laughing, Qrow included. He had to admit, he was feeling a little better after talking to Clover. At least now they might be able to have a more productive work relationship. Before he could take his seat, Clover whispered into his ear one more time. “I do need your number though so we can collaborate for the trip.”

“Uh…sure,” Qrow said, taking the phone Clover was holing out to him and typing in his number. “You were joking about the paperwork and working evenings, right?”

The pit in Qrow’s stomach opened up again when Clover didn’t respond. Apparently, Clover’s apology story to Blake had some truth to it after all.

“I’ll be in touch, Mr. Branwen,” Clover said, and he walked away to join his now-full table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Well they finally started to clear the air! I realize that this chapter was a little different, I really wanted to do a dialogue heavy chapter since I haven't had too many conversations yet. Please, please, please let me know what you think! Did you like this style, do you like the more descriptive chapters more, etc? I'm aiming to strike more of a balance in future chapters, especially since they've all been getting longer and longer. Of course, with longer chapters, I am in need of a beta reader. Those interested can contact me at the places below.
> 
> As always, thank you for supporting the story so far! All of your kudos and comments mean a lot to me, and they really inspire me to work on the story. You all have been so kind so far, and it's been overwhelming in the best of ways. My birthday is next weekend, so I'll try to get a new chapter out before then! But for now, thank you for reading this update, please let me know what you thought!
> 
> Love,  
> Jelly
> 
> You can reach me at my Tumblr (https://smol--jelly.tumblr.com/) where I post status updates and sneak peeks at new chapters, or you can reach me via Discord (which you can ask me for on my Tumblr). See ya next time!


	4. Old Tradition and New Trepidation

“Remember everyone, today’s the last day to sign up for the winter semester trip to Atlas,” Qrow called out as the students packed their bags. “We still have two more slots, so you better grab yours before it fills up.”

A few of the students nodded, while others looked as though they had completely forgotten that Qrow even existed, and for once he didn’t care. It was his favorite day of the year, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and get the party started. Qrow looked out over the classroom at the wide array of costumes the students were wearing for Halloween, and he wished he’d had a damn bingo card for stereotypical outfits.

Two of the louder guys in his class wore their favorite jerseys from some sports team, claiming that they were going as their favorite players for the day. One girl with long brown hair had a pair of bunny ears on her head, while the boy next to her was wearing a morph suit. The only one who seemed to put any effort into their costume was the beautiful fairy princess played by none other than Jaune Arc, class clown. As much as Jaune didn’t seem to take the class seriously, his comedic writing was unparalleled. It didn’t matter what the story was, he always seemed to get people to laugh at his punchlines, and they were well worth it.

Even Qrow decided to dress in costume. He was decked out in a large black robe, skeleton mask, and a fake scythe in an attempt to pay homage to one of his favorite figures from myth. As he finished packing up his own bag, he was approached by Blake. Ever since their meeting a few weeks prior, Blake had started becoming more and more accustomed to having conversations with Qrow right at the end of class. Any Halloween before now, and Qrow wouldn’t have given Blake even an extra minute of his time, but even he had to admit that having her in class was a breath of fresh air.

She wasn’t the typical know-it-all, bookworm student that he’d seen. She had no preconceived notions of her skills as a writer, she took criticism well, and she seemed genuinely surprised to receive praise. She sold herself short so many times, and Qrow had wondered if there was a reason for that, but he decided it was not his place to ask. As she approached him today, she held a few papers in her hands.

“I’ve finally convinced my parents to let me go to Atlas,” she beamed. “I’m so excited for the trip.”

“I’m glad you could join us,” Qrow laughed. “Something tells me Yang would go crazy if she couldn’t talk to her girlfriend over the holidays because of travel.”

“Can we keep it a secret? I want to surprise her,” Blake said, handing the application for the program to Qrow. “But don’t worry Professor Branwen, I’ll stay focused on my studies.”

“Speaking of studies, have you given any thought to my capstone course in advanced fiction next semester? I think that you’d really benefit from it,” Qrow said, taking the papers.

“The course request website said it was already full,” Blake sighed. “Otherwise I would have.”

“Blake, you know I’m the one who approves additional students once we reach max capacity, right?” he explained. “Leave the slot open and write an email to Dr. Goodwitch in the advisory office. Make sure to copy Dr. Ozpin and myself in the email as well. We’ll get you in.”

Blake smiled widely.

“In that case, I’m looking forward to the course!”

“Good,” Qrow nodded. “Be safe tonight. If I know my nieces, Yang and Ruby love Halloween. Don’t get in too much trouble now, you hear? You have to stay out of jail if you want to go on the trip.”

“No promises there,” she deadpanned, and Qrow’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. “Kidding! Well, I’m late, gotta run! Thanks again Professor Branwen, and happy Halloween!”

Qrow waved back and Blake sped out of the room. Qrow soon followed suit, heading for his office to drop off the application form before he could leave. Once there, he placed the application on the pile on his desk and noted just how messy the room had become, much like his own room at home. He pulled out his phone, frowning when he saw the message waiting for him.

_Sorry baby brother, helping out Summer and Tai, gotta cancel tonight._

Qrow sighed as he reread the text from his sister. When they were kids, they’d go trick-or-treating, and then watch spooky movies all night long. As they got older, they traded the trick-or-treating for a nice bottle or two of wine and the spooky kids’ movies for full-fledged horror flicks. She’d cancelled on him more often than not the older they got, but he still extended her an invitation every year because he felt like he still needed to.

In fact, Raven had cancelled every year for the past five years, because it just so happened that Summer and Tai started throwing massive parties. They lived in a town about a half hour away from Beacon, and the population of the area was small. So, to compensate for the lack of houses for trick-or-treating, they threw a giant Halloween bash for all of the families in the town, complete with bobbing for apples, costume contests, jack-o-lantern carving, and more. Raven wasn’t one to hang around kids and families, but all it took was Summer and Tai to come calling once and she was as good as gone.

“Dammit…” Qrow sighed, his shoulders dropping.

“What’s wrong? You’re sounding pretty grim,” Clover said from the doorway, causing Qrow to jump a little.

“You’ve got to stop popping up everywhere,” Qrow said, ignoring Clover’s obvious pun. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one day.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Clover laughed. “At least not until after the study abroad.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Qrow rolled his eyes, unamused. “What are you supposed to be? Some kind of ancient fishmonger?”

Clover was wearing a garment that hung off his shoulders and lower arms, with some sort of metallic fasteners pinning the fabric together. There was a tight tie around his waist, as the rest of the garment fell to his ankles. Qrow thought it was called a chiton…or maybe a just a regular toga…though he wasn’t about to gamble and ask Clover. On his feet, there were a pair of strapped sandals that looked as if they were fastened almost too tightly, and frankly, looked painful. In addition to his ancient attire, Clover held a giant, plastic fish by the tail.

“Come on, you don’t recognize me?” Clover smirked. “You’ve taught the class on Fables and Mythology before, haven’t you?”

“Maybe once or twice, but I can’t remember much from it,” Qrow shrugged. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess? Because I’ll tell you right now, if I have to guess, we’ll be here all night.”

“Fine,” Clover sighed. “I’m the fisherman from one of Aesop’s fables, the lucky one. Judging by the sound of your ‘dammit,’ luck is not something you have a lot of tonight.”

“Nope,” the reaper returned. “My sister bailed on our Halloween tradition, and bars are kind of a no-go tonight because of cover charges and all of the students running wild. I don’t really feel like bumping into my nieces.”

“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” Clover agreed. “What kind of tradition was it?”

“Nothing special, just two bottles of Amontillado and some scary movies,” Qrow explained. “You’ve probably got like fifty parties tonight anyways, so it’s a lot less exciting that whatever you’ve got planned.”

“Actually, that sounds fun.”

_Oh?_

“If you have no one else joining you, perhaps I could come by.”

“What about all of your parties?”

“Remember that thing about you putting words in my mouth?” Clover grinned, stepping out from the doorway towards Qrow. “I have no plans tonight except grade papers and finish processing this last application I got for the program. Did you get any more?”  
“Got one more today,” Qrow nodded.

“Good, then it sounds like a working evening,” the fisherman said.

“Oh, I was going to process the applications on Monday,” Qrow began.

“Well we have to finalize the list together, just bring them all home now and we can finish them up before the opening title card.”

Qrow sighed, turning around and picking the stack of applications up off of his desk. He still wasn’t fully comfortable with the idea of Clover coming over, even if it was for work. His apartment was the last bastion of hope for him. If Clover ever got too annoying, Qrow could at least retreat to the safety of an unknown location in his apartment.

“Really, my place isn’t the best, we can work at yours,” Qrow proposed, hoping Clover would take the bait.

“Normally I’d say yes…”

_Goddammit._

“…but there was a busted pipe in the apartment above mine, so I’m actually in a hotel until everything is cleaned up and repaired…it’s a disaster right now.”

“Fine, but don’t expect much. I wasn’t expecting any guests today except maybe my sister,” Qrow warned. “My apartment might be a bit messy.”

* * *

“You know…”

“Don’t say a word.”

“…It’s not… _that_ bad…”

“You can always leave.”

“It just needs…a little elbow grease is all.”

Qrow was too busy placing his bag down and kicking off his shoes to notice Clover staring around his apartment, eyes wide at the mounds of blankets, papers, and books strewn everywhere.

“Can you actually find stuff here?” Clover said, his voice wavering a bit in awe at the mountains of paperwork on the coffee table. “Is this even from this year?”

“Yeah, I just usually forget to put it back, s’all,” Qrow responded. “You’re welcome to clean it up if it bothers you that much. You can just put it on my desk over in the corner.”

“That’s supposed to be a usable desk?”

“Door’s right there, Mr. Ebi,” Qrow offered again.

“No, no, I’m already here, and we have paperwork to do. Maybe we can just do this at the dining table or something, assuming I can find one,” Clover said, dramatically stepping around the apartment, even when he wasn’t near haphazardly discarded items.

“Sure, we can get set up over there,” the black-haired man pointed towards the table tucked away next to the half-wall separating his kitchen from the living space. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

A knock at the door startled the two men.

“What time is it?” Qrow asked.

“Uhh…just after 6:30 P.M. Why?”

“Shit. I don’t have candy.”

“Really?”

“I usually just put a bowl out, but I forgot this year! Maybe they’ll think I’m not home.”

The knock came again.

“Just go distract them,” Clover said, yanking his bag off and ruffling through different pouches. “I think I have some of the candy bags I passed around in my classes earlier.”

“What?”

“Go, Qrow!”

Qrow grumbled something under his breath before making his way to the door. He hesitated for a moment, and decided on taking off the skeleton mask. As much as he liked the being dressed Grim Reaper, he wasn’t going to scare some children who just wanted candy, even on Halloween. After pulling his hood down, he opened the door to see two small children dressed as a superhero and a mermaid, accompanied by a woman who towered over Qrow. The children looked up, held out the pillowcases they had in their hands, and chimed out in unison. “Trick-or-treat!”

“Hello, neighbor! Wasn’t sure you’d be home! Happy Halloween!” the woman practically shouted.

“Just got back,” Qrow said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nice costumes kiddos, let’s see if I’ve got some candy for you.”

“Elm?”

“Clover!”

_Excuse me?_

“Good to see you! Where’s everyone else?”

“They caught the flu, but you know me, I’m a bastion of health!”

“That you are, Elm, that you are,” Clover smiled, joining Qrow in the doorway. “Aww, don’t you two look adorable today?” He pulled his hands out from behind his back to reveal a large, three-pound bag of candy. “Why don’t you both take your pick? If your mom lets you, you can each have a few pieces instead of just one!”

Their eyes lit up like Halloween suddenly became Christmas.

“Thanks Uncle Clover!”

“Uncle?”

“Not really, I’m just a family friend.”

“I’d ask you to come with us, Clover, but I can see you’re spending time with your boyfriend!” Elm said, positively beaming, and Clover suddenly looked like he was the one that needed the mask to hide his face. “I just didn’t know he was my neighbor!”

“Wh…E-Elm…we’re just colleagues,” Clover stuttered, passing the kids noticeably more candy than he’d promised them. “We have work to do for the winter trip to Atlas.”

“Oh! My mistake!” Elm said, waving her hands back and forth in front of her face, her smile never dropping. “My apologies! I didn’t mean to embarrass the both of you! But, isn’t this the recluse professor you talk about all the time? He looks like him from the stories you tell us.”

“Recluse?”

“ _Thank you_ , Elm,” Clover sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please tell Vine I said hello, and that it’s Marrow’s fault for not getting a flu shot.”

“He is afraid of needles!”

“He’s also a fully-grown young man who should be able to handle a little pin prick.”

“True enough,” she smiled once more. “Happy Halloween you two, and it was nice meeting you Mister…”

“Branwen. Qrow Branwen,” Qrow said, extending a hand while still trying to comprehend everything that was happening.

Elm’s face seemed to light up like the kids’ faces did a few moments ago, but before she could get the words out of her mouth, Clover pushed Qrow back into the apartment and shut the door.

“Sorry about her,” he said, slumping against the door. “She gets stories confused a lot.”

“Recluse? Really?”

“Well…you aren’t the most social person outside of classes.”

“I’m hurt.”

“Tell you what,” Clover said, placing a hand firmly on Qrow’s shoulder. “You work on finishing up the applications, and I’ll handle all of the kids. What time does the trick-or-treating stop?”

“It should stop at 8:30.”

“Okay then,” the fisherman grinned, cocking his head. “I’ll man the door; you man the papers. And if you’re really intending for us to watch movies…you might want to clear off a place for us to sit on the couch.”

There was another knock on the door, and Clover immediately turned to open it, while Qrow turned away to walk towards the dining room table.

“I’d say happy Halloween, but you all look like you’re ready for summer camp!”

Qrow cracked a smile as he listened to Clover speaking to all of the families that came by. Several of them asked if he lived there, and were introducing themselves, but instead of denying it, Clover returned the greetings. Those families would be disappointed in the future to see that it was only Qrow who occupied the usually lonely apartment, and not a charismatic Clover. As the early evening passed, Qrow steadily made his way through the stack of applications, and Clover steadily worked through the large bag of candy he had pulled out of his backpack earlier.

He had to admit, he was glad that Clover was there to pass out candy to the children so that he didn’t have to. He’d seemed a natural, and Qrow wondered for a moment if Clover had any nieces or nephews of his own. Maybe his brother or sister, if he had siblings, were somewhere far away so Clover could only spoil the kids when he came to visit. He’d be a great family man if he ever settled down.

Settling down…Qrow turned red in the face as he remembered the woman’s comment about him being Clover’s supposed boyfriend. He’d been too fixated on the recluse comment that her first comment seemed to have passed him entirely. He didn’t recognize the woman, but she clearly knew Clover from somewhere. It had honestly been a bit embarrassing for Qrow, but it probably had been ten times worse for Clover. Oh well, honest mistakes happen, but Qrow would definitely have to ask Clover for the stories that he told later. Even if it was just shit talking, Qrow wanted to know what he’d done that’d left an impression that warranted sharing, and that made Elm think they were dating.

Qrow shook his head, returning to his work and settling into a rhythm. Time seemed to pass quickly, with Clover moving between table and door, and Qrow humming along as he worked. He’d finished the stack, the trick-or-treaters seemed to stop coming, and there was a nice pizza on its way. They had debated making dinner, but after discovering Qrow’s fridge was void of any foodstuffs and the sink was full of dirty dishes, pizza won out. Qrow had long since ditched the reaper costume in favor of sweatpants and a hoodie that was too large and baggy for him. As he stretched his arms over his head, the sleeves slid off of his hands and up his arms. He shuffled to the kitchen to grab two glasses, and he uncorked one of the bottles of wine while Clover answered the door for the pizza man.

“Do you even have a change of clothes?” Qrow chuckled as Clover brought the pizza into the kitchen and set it on the counter. “Or do you intend to watch movies in that get up?”

“Of course I have a change of clothes,” Clover said, undoing the tie around his waist, and moving to take off his garment.

“Woah, woah, easy there pal, not in my kitchen,” Qrow said raising a hand to hide Clover from view.

“What do you mean?” Clover said, shucking the costume on the floor, revealing a pair of gym shorts and a slim v-neck shirt that had been hiding underneath. The shirt accentuated his muscular arms and chest, and Qrow found his eyes lingering a moment longer than he wanted them to, something Clover picked up on. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Professor Branwen, or I’ll have to report you to Ozpin.”

“Report me?” Qrow couldn’t help but snort. “That’s hilarious.” He poured himself and Clover both a glass of Amontillado sherry and brought them over to his coffee table. He’d moved the papers off and placed them on the once vacant dining table so that they’d have a place to put their food and drink. Qrow had also chucked the blankets carelessly onto the lone armchair, freeing up space for both of them to sit on the couch. “You can wait to report me until after the movie marathon.”

“You were serious about the marathon? I thought you’d want me out of here after we finished working. I didn't actually think your invitation to watch movies was serious.”

“Correction: I worked. You invited yourself,” Qrow recounted. “Plus, you said so yourself, your apartment is under repairs. You can stay here tonight, assuming you can fit on the couch.”

“I…thank you…” Clover said from the kitchen and hurried his way over with two full plates and some napkins.

“Now then…let’s begin.”

As was tradition, Qrow picked the original _Halloween_. After they finished the first one, they’d planned to move directly to the most recent _Halloween_ film, which Qrow had found oddly refreshing when he saw it in theaters the first time.

By this point in his life, Qrow had become a horror expert. He knew when the first kill would happen. He knew when, where, and how jump scares would come. He could predict the tonal shifts in the music, and he could pretty much predict the death order for any slasher flick he watched. As someone who had been an avid consumer of the genre, he’d grown bored with the repetition and stereotypical horror clichés. Slashers were predictable, ghost movies had sloppy pacing, and Qrow wasn’t a fan of any movies that were just gross out flicks. When it came to the _Halloween_ movies, he had every moment memorized after seeing both films so many times. He could practically count down to the second every little gag or gimmick.

What he didn’t see coming was the man with the imposing frame next to him, trembling.

After taking a few sips of his wine with his pizza, Qrow finally looked over to see a terrified Clover, who was infinitely more interesting than the movie. He set down his glass in favor of focusing on his new subject. Mr. Cocky jumped at every little bump, every inkling of movement, and every jump scare frightened him. He’d hissed a few curses out from under his breath, but he desperately fought the urge to shout out loud.

Qrow, meanwhile, fought the urge to laugh at his movie watching companion.

Clover gripped the pillow tightly in his lap, and at some point, he’d taken to hugging it instead for some sort of emotional support. His teal eyes were fixed to the screen, unable to look away, while Qrow was unable to break his concentration on Clover’s minute reactions. He’d contemplated scaring Clover a time or two during the one of the jump scares, but even that seemed to cruel for him.

It was late at night when the second movie finished, and Qrow stood up to stretch.

“Welp. Good night,” Qrow said coldly, trying to hide a smile as he played his hand.

“You’re just going to leave me?” Clover said, panic in his voice. “Can’t we watch something nice to calm down?”  
“I’m totally calm,” Qrow smirked. “You on the other hand…you look pale enough to make a ghost jealous.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, okay then,” Qrow shrugged, turning towards his bathroom. “You know where the blankets are. Don’t wet yourself, I don’t want to clean up after you. Same’s true if Michael breaks in and gets you. I don’t wanna clean that up either.”

“Wait!”

Qrow shut the door, stifling a laugh with both of his hands, and locking the door. He quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth. He’d shower in the morning, but he had to go back out now if he wanted to keep the momentum going. He stepped out, a sly grin on his face as he looked at Clover, who tightly gripped the arms of the couch.

“Okay, you know where the bathroom is too, so if you’re being chased, run in there,” Qrow said as he crossed the room, taking note of how Clover’s eyebrows shot up at the prospect. “It’s easier to clean blood off of tile than carpet. Good night!”

And with that, he shut his bedroom door, but he couldn’t stop the laugh this time. He practically threw back his head as he let out a deep, satisfying laugh for a few moments, before a yawn reminded him of the time. Qrow walked towards the bed, his lanky body not entirely happy at the prospect of spending another night with his crappy sheets and crappy mattress and crappy pillows, but it’s what he had to make do with. He stripped off his pants and sweatshirt, and shivered as he stood in the chilly room in just a pair of black boxers. He flopped down onto the mattress, exhaustion started to slowly get the better of him, and he tucked himself under the covers. As it turned out, messing with Clover had put him at ease, and Qrow soon found himself rapidly drifting towards sleep.

Until he heard a knock.

Qrow’s breathing stilled. Maybe if he was silent, Clover would go away.

Second knock, and then a soft voice.

“Qrow…you awake?”

“Unfortunately…”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I can, good night.”

Qrow rolled over on his side and took pleasure in the panicked sound Clover made at his terse response.

“They go for the jocks first.”

“Well out of the two of us, yeah. Good luck.”

“Qrow!”

Qrow impatiently sat up in his bed and looked in the direction of his doorway.

“Clover! Go to bed. Go watch tv or something to calm down.”

“But I’m alone out there…”

“Look, if I let you sleep in here, will you please shut the fuck up so I can sleep?”

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

“Ugh…fine.”

There were a few soft footsteps, the sound of slipping fabric, and the subsequent creak of the springs in his mattress. As Clover took his spot on the bed, Qrow felt himself slide slightly closer to Clover’s place, as his side of the mattress rose slightly under the weight on the opposite half. He really needed to get a new mattress.

“Sorry if it’s uncomfortable,” Qrow murmured. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

While Qrow thought that Clover’s silence would make it easier to sleep at the cost of sharing a bed, he was wrong. This was different from the last time when they were…intimate. He was acutely aware of every motion of the other man. Qrow laid still, trying to keep his breathing calm and trying not to let his mind roam free. The soft, rhythmic breaths, the tiny movements, bare legs accidentally brushing against one another here and there, it was maddening. After about a half hour, after Clover had most definitely fallen asleep, Qrow thought he would do the same, but he was intrigued by the sudden, small sounds he heard.

_Was that…was that Clover?_

He listened again in the darkness, focusing on the other occupant of the bed, and sure enough, there it was again. It seemed like Clover had indeed fallen asleep, but it was fitful to say the least. Not a cry, not a yell, but more like a whimper, and the more he did so, the more it tugged at Qrow’s heartstrings. Sure, he’d hated the man up until a few weeks ago, but he knew what it was like more than anyone to have night terrors. They were rough.

Steadily, Qrow inched closer and closer to Clover underneath the scratchy covers. He wrapped his arms around the distressed sleeper, pulling them together, sharply breathing in as their bare skin made contact. He ran a hand through Clover’s hair a few times, before resting it on his cheek, and rubbing circles into Clover’s temple with his thumb.

“Shhhh, it’s alright big guy.”

As he spoke, Clover’s eyes fluttered open, and in the low light of the bedroom, Qrow could barely make out the look on Clover’s face, and it was the same fragile look he’d had their morning together. He hated that face. He hated that he was once the cause of it, and he hoped he wasn’t the cause of it now.

“Qrow?”

“It’s alright, big guy, I’m here.”

Qrow continued his ministrations, as Clover suddenly relaxed into him, hands grabbing purchase where they could, as he clumsily attempted to draw Qrow closer. His eyes closed once more, and his face relaxed, as the two men were flush together. Clover spoke again softly, words heavy with sleep, betraying his real state of being.

“Qrow…I…you…my Qrow…” he repeated over and over again, but the words were too slurred and quiet for Qrow to make out what else he was saying. Eventually, the incoherent mumbling stopped, and the steadiness in Clover’s breathing returned.

In the warmth of Clover’s embrace, Qrow finally found sleep.

* * *

This time, when Qrow woke up, he noted the absence of someone next to him, and the subsequent fact that he was slightly disappointed. Last night had been the most fun he’d had on Halloween since his sister stopped coming by.

With a long stretch, and a few cracking joints, Qrow sat up in bed, a wayward hand drifting towards the spot on the mattress that had been occupied by Clover. The cold space a hollow reminder to Qrow that it would always be there, as it had been before. Even if they still didn’t get along that well, Qrow had to admit that it was nice to share a bed with someone, anyone, and not even for sexual reasons. Qrow smiled as he remembered bits and pieces from the night.

The way Clover clung to him in sleep, his steady breathing, the sleep talking. Qrow would definitely have to store that one away to use for ammunition later…or maybe just to keep for himself. He raised a hand to his mouth, covering his smile for reasons unknown to him, but this time he just couldn’t stop.

“So, Mr. Perfect really is just a big baby,” Qrow laughed to himself, and his own voice shocked him for a moment.

There wasn’t a hint of sleepiness.

No tired rasp.

No yawn.

Nothing.

His hand went further upwards, running fingers through his hair. No headache, no stomachache, no spins. In fact, Qrow couldn’t even remember finishing the first glass of wine that he poured. He looked down at his bed, sheets still draped across it. Sure, the bed was still hot, but he hadn’t kicked them off for once. In fact, Qrow couldn’t even remember a time in the night when he woke up.

He’d slept soundly for the first time in a long time.

Even with all of his rest, Qrow still found himself quickly frowning as he stared at the empty half of his bed. Even Mr. Perfect left before Qrow woke up in the morning. Even though they hadn’t hooked up, even though it was just sharing a bed because Clover wouldn’t stop his damn whimpering, he’d made up his mind to bolt before Qrow could even come to in the morning light. Qrow couldn’t fault him too much though, if he’d practically whined his way into the bed of someone he thought hated him because he was scared, he’d definitely head for the hills at the first opportunity.

Still, that didn’t stop Qrow from sighing as he swung his legs out from under the covers and pulled on the pair of pajama bottoms that were crumpled up at his feet where he kicked them off the night before. As he stood up, his joints cracked again, and he took in a deep breath.

So what if he woke up alone? So what if Clover was gone? It’s not like Qrow wanted him there anyways. He was a grown man. They both were. They were both capable of making their own decisions. They were both completely mature. Right?

Stepping out of his room, three things greeted Qrow, who was not ready for any of them.

The first was how clean his living room was. Last he’d been in it, there were papers scattered everywhere, blankets thrown about, and books lying wherever they could find space. Sure, Qrow could have made an attempt to keep it neat and tidy, but it would just go back to being messy anyways. He never once thought that it would clean itself, or rather someone else would clean it. The books were nowhere to be seen, the haphazardly strewn papers were stacked in neat piles on his coffee table, and the blankets were folded neatly over the back of the couch.

Second was the smell of bacon wafting over from the kitchen. Not just bacon, there were other smells coming too, and whatever it was, it smelled delicious. Qrow couldn’t remember the last time he’d even had breakfast, since he was usually either still asleep or too lazy to make it for himself. He closed his eyes and let the delicious aroma beckon him out of his doorway and towards the kitchen area, his stomach letting out a long growl as he shuffled his way forward.

“Good morning, sleepy head. You have good timing; breakfast is almost ready.”

Clover was the third thing Qrow wasn’t ready for.

Especially not Clover wearing only an apron and pajama pants.

His pajama pants.

Uh oh.

“Are…are those my…”

“Yeah, you had a few pairs lying on the floor, so I snagged one, though they’re a little tight.”

“…I didn’t even know I owned an apron…”

Qrow took a moment to curse whatever gods existed as Clover turned around in place. Suddenly, Qrow himself felt a little insecure at the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt either. Comparing the two of them, Clover definitely had the better physique, more muscle and definition, whereas Qrow was lithe and lean. He was sure that if Clover bent down to pick something up, his pajama pants could say their goodbyes before ripping at every seam.

“It was folded and sitting on the counter.”

“I thought that was just a crappy dish towel my sister left…”

“Seriously, do you use your kitchen for anything other than wine storage?”

“Yeah,” Qrow scoffed. “wine glass storage.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, it seems Mr. Branwen is now a comedian, renouncing his ways as an author altogether!” Clover projected to an imaginary audience, plating eggs with swift motions.

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” Qrow said, rolling his eyes.

“You’re right, being a comedian is your first career,” the brown-haired man joked, winking at Qrow as he did so, causing him to pause for a few moments. “What? No snappy retort? Cat got your tongue, Mr. Branwen?”

“Fuck you,” Qrow chuckled.

“Clever.”

“I need coffee before I have the energy to be made fun of, if that’s alright.”

“Already made some. Your mug is on the table.”

Qrow made his way over, looking at the contents of the mug to find the dark brown liquid still piping hot. “How’d you know I drink my coffee black?” he asked, taking a sip. Damn it was good.

“Uh, well let’s see…we’ve met,” Clover paused. “And that’s how I know.”

“Fuck you,” Qrow laughed out loud again.

“No one’s doing that right now, but I’m opening applications. Interested in applying?”

“Pass.”

“Aw, I’m hurt,” Clover sighed. “And here I thought I was finally getting through to you.”

“More food and coffee, then we’ll talk about who’s getting through to who,” Qrow said, taking another sip from his mug.

“I’ve already eaten, but here’s your plate. I need to head out soon,” Clover said, passing the plate to Qrow. Two eggs, a piece of perfectly browned toast with a small butter square already melting, and three pieces of bacon. Fuck, it looked like something straight out of a commercial. “I didn’t just want to leave after your hospitality last night. You put up with my impositions, so cutting and running didn’t seem right.”

Qrow eyed the plate once more, before taking the fork and knife in his hands, and breaking open the yolk, which started slowly running, just the way he liked it. He would have to thank whoever gave Clover a roadmap to his taste buds later, because he was too busy inhaling the delicious food. Every bite was better than the last, and Qrow had to physically stop himself from moaning at the flavor. It was just some damn bacon and eggs, but it was the best damn breakfast he’d had. What did Clover do to it? Secret spices? Toasting the bread in bacon grease? What? He washed down the last few bites with the rest of his coffee and stood up to bring the plate to the kitchen, which was just as spotless as his living room.

“Okay seriously, what time did you get up to do all of this?”

“I-I uh…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clover stuttered. “I’m a morning person anyways, and I just organized a little. Can’t make a healthy breakfast with a dirty kitchen.”

“Uh huh…and the living room?”

“Oh, that I did last night while trying to distract myself from thinking about the movie...before going to you that is.”

“Scaredy cat.”

“Hey man, Michael Meyers is an unstoppable killing machine, of course I’d be scared of him,” Clover retorted.

“Well of course, you’re not a lady whose last name is Strode. You don’t stand a chance,” Qrow said matter-of-factly. “Either way, nice pivot, and nice breakfast. It was good.”

“You liked it?” Clover perked up slightly. “It was nothing, I’m just glad I found a usable pan.”

_Wait._

_Wait a second._

_Did he…no…_

_No way…right?_

_I have to ask…_

“Where’d you get the ingredients? I sure as hell didn’t have bacon in my fridge,” Qrow mused.

“Uh…you…you definitely had eggs and bacon, what are you talking about?” the man in the apron laughed nervously. “Are you sure you’re not still sleepy? Earth to Qrow, come in Qrow.”

“No…I don’t normally make breakfast…”

“Uh…”

“And we ordered pizza last night because I had no food here.”

“Well...”

“So you went to the store like th-”

“Look at the time!” Clover shouted abruptly, his face turning slightly red as he turned away from Qrow. “I really should be on my way, thank you for being a nice host.” At this point, Clover was all but running around the apartment as he gathered his bag and clothes from the previous day before beelining directly to the bathroom, presumably to change. Qrow stood still in the middle of his apartment, wondering where the fire was before a fully clothed Clover stepped out not more than a minute later, apron draped over his arm, neatly folded in half. “I really should be on my way. I have to turn in the paperwork on the location of our study spots, lodging, and local police stations for the Atlas trip. It’s already late.”

“Woah, woah, what’s the rush?”

“Well you could come to the library with me and help me with the paperwork.”

“You know? Maybe I am a little tired. After all, I did all of the paperwork last night.”

Clover nodded his head towards Qrow before stepping out the front door, leaving Qrow feeling like a tornado just ripped through his apartment.

“What the fuck was that about?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here! I hope you very much enjoyed the update! I wanted to give you all a longer chapter, as my birthday gift to you (even if mine isn't until Sunday)! I know that Clover's pretty fearless so far in RWBY, but I thought it would be interesting to portray him with a little harmless fear...and I think Qrow's happy to have seen it. Plus who doesn't love a bit of totally (non)platonic bed sharing? AND ELM! I love the Ace Ops, and I plan to show them a bit more, but I just had to get Elm in as soon as possible.
> 
> I really want to thank everyone for your continued support as I post more chapters. Whether you're leaving kudos here, commenting, sharing my story on Tumblr, or messaging me about it, honestly you all have made me feel so happy and loved. Every time I get a message or notification, it seriously puts a huge smile on my face, and it really motivates me to continue to produce content. I love these two, and I'm so glad that I can make something that others find joy in! So please, please, please let me know what you think! Kudos, comments, and the like are hugely appreciated, and I will definitely give you the biggest hug! ♥
> 
> As always, you can follow or reach me on my Tumblr: https://smol--jelly.tumblr.com
> 
> I post status updates, links to new chapters, and sneak peeks when chapters are completed (before they're edited). I hope you all have a lovely weekend!
> 
> Love,  
> Jelly ♥


	5. Under the Weather and Over the Moon

It wouldn’t be November without Qrow Branwen getting the flu. Every year, without fail, Qrow fell ill at the same time. No matter what he did, he still hadn’t found a way to stave off the sickness. He’d gotten flu shots, tried the surgeon masks, obsessively washed his hands, wore gloves, everything he could think of to avoid the plague, but it would still find its target year after year. Sometimes he’d catch it looking after his sister, other times it would be from one or two of his students. As the attendance rates of students began to drop, Qrow knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be following suit.

Fortunately, the predictability of his body’s inability to fight the flu meant he was plenty prepared for the eventual week off from work. With Thanksgiving being the following week, Qrow figured that students wouldn’t be doing any work over the holidays. Many of them had exams before traveling, and they’d have to hit the ground running when they returned to prepare for finals.

Taking this into account, Qrow had made it a habit in most of his creative writing classes to make November a “small workshop only” month, so the students could work on their portfolios. They’d have to regularly submit progress reports, and during class time they could partner up with other students to review their work and give feedback. Some students tended to like the smaller workshops over the class-wide workshops, but for those that wanted an unbiased review not conducted by their friends in the class, Qrow also accepted drafts for review.

Whenever he was sick, Qrow would send out the notice that he would be absent, and he’d let his students know that the room would still be available. It was also during this time period that more students would send him their drafts. He assumed they’d not actually bothered to show up those days. Personally, it didn’t bother Qrow whether the students showed up when he was sick or not, as long as they continued to submit their progress reports and continued to use their time wisely.

Students needed to be trusted, whether Qrow wanted to admit it or not. If he turned them loose, with some direction, he’d always said they’d be responsible enough to complete their work. It was Qrow’s way of helping the students to learn some sort of self-discipline that they’d need if they ever had any intention of pursuing a solitary creative profession. But there was a catch to his leniency. Every year, he still had one or two students in complete panic mode come December because they hadn’t used the free workshop time, and Qrow wouldn’t grant extensions without an extensive reasoning. After being in his class the whole semester, the students would have definitely been given ample time to finish their work.

Nothing pissed Qrow off more than his troublesome students coming to him asking him to accept late portfolios weeks ahead of their final due date, as if predicting they wouldn’t be ready in time.

Halfway through his morning routine, Qrow knew immediately that this would be the week he was out of commission. He’d gone to bed the night before with a slight headache, hoping it would be gone by the morning. It had persisted through until the morning, but Qrow didn’t think much of it. He took a hot shower to wake himself up, and upon stepping out of the shower, his lightheadedness got the better of him. His body felt weak, the room was spinning, and he stumbled around, trying to get back to his bed.

Throughout the morning, he’d hoped he’d feel better, but as it passed, his body continued to put him through hellish changes. Qrow was so cold, and no number of blankets would warm him up. He put on a large black hoodie and his red pajama pants and threw one more blanket on the bed. Nothing made the chills better. Yet despite all of this, he was still sweating profusely, and he felt cold and clammy in the empty room. His stomach was doing flips, and his head continued to ache. No doubt that this was it.

From beneath the mountain of blankets, Qrow reached for his phone on the nightstand, and started writing his customary email to the students. He checked it over a few times, copied Ozpin on it so that he’d know Qrow was absent, and sent it out.

_Hello students,_

**_Effective immediately_** _, I will be missing from class for the next few days due to the flu._

_The rooms will be available still if you wish to conduct small workshops with your peers. I expect you to use this time to continue to work on your portfolios. If you choose to take this time to work from the comfort of your dorms or apartments, that is fine as well._

_Even though I am ill, I will still take in any drafts that you wish to have reviewed, and I will work on them when I am able, so please email them to me if you want my feedback._

_Stay healthy,_

_Prof. Branwen_

After hitting the send button, Qrow flicked through the icons to the green phone, and clicked the first contact in his “Recent” tab, Raven. He counted the rings, waiting and hoping to hear his sister’s voice.

One.

Two.

Three.

“Qrow can I call you back?” The voice was short, raspy, and quiet.

“I’m sick, Rae,” Qrow said weakly into the mic. He heard a sigh, and his heart dropped.

“So are we,” Raven responded.

“We who?”

“Summer, Tai, and myself. They had it bad two days ago, so I came to take care of them, but I think I caught the flu from my coworker who was sick last week,” Raven explained. “So now we’re quarantined in their house until we get better.”

“What about me?”

“Sorry baby bro,” she said. “Give us updates if you feel better.”

The phone beeped as Raven hung up, and Qrow cursed the universe. He stared up at his ceiling, watching the fan as it spun slowly. Between the pain and haze in his head, the overwhelming sensations his body was putting him through, and the uncomfortable scratching of his covers, Qrow hoped for sleep to overtake him, for some relief.

Instead, the pounding in his head worsened as the phone rang minutes later. Without looking at the screen, Qrow flicked his thumb and croaked out a greeting.

“Hello?”

“You sound terrible,” said the concerned voice on the other end. “Have you gone to the hospital?”

“No,” Qrow replied softly. “Hard to stand. Everything sucks.”

“Survive the morning,” Clover instructed. “I’ll be over as soon as my class is done. Do you have food?”

“No.”

“Medicine?”

“Expired, probably,” Qrow coughed violently. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d bought medicine for a cold or flu. Sure, he had ibuprofen for the headaches, but that wouldn’t take care of everything else.

“What would you do without me?” his colleague asked jokingly.

“I’m fine alone,” Qrow began, but his voice betrayed him.

“I’m going to call bullshit on that one,” Clover laughed. “I’ll see you soon. Try to drink water and rest up.”

As soon as the call ended, Qrow mustered what strength he had in him to move to the living room. Every footstep felt heavy and labored, and his hands found whatever surfaces they could to steady him as he progressed towards the couch. He staggered slightly, before flopping down on the cushions in an ungraceful manner. Without bothering to look, he reached up and grabbed the blanked draped over the back of the couch and tugged it down over his torso.

The living room was draftier than his bedroom, but he doubted he’d be able to hear Clover arrive, much less have the strength to be able to make the walk to his door if he remained in bed. It had taken enough out of him just getting to his current position.

Qrow reached out and grabbed the remote off of the coffee table, and attempted to channel surf, with mixed results. The daytime shopping channels wouldn’t be bad if the salespeople weren’t yelling so loudly. The camera angles and actions shots in passing movies made Qrow’s head spin and stomach churn. The colors of the cartoons were too vibrant, and the daytime gameshows were just as raucous as the shopping channels.

Eventually, he pressed the power button again, ending the tumultuous television programs that assaulted him with every other click. He replaced the remote, and then opened up the laptop next to it. As it powered on, he lowered the screen brightness, and practically muted the volume on it so that he wouldn’t receive any unwelcomed surprises. The apps continued to boot up one at a time, ending with his email. Even if he couldn’t do much, the least he could do was wait for students to send him drafts of their pieces.

There were only three emails waiting for him, two from the department, and one “get well” message from Dr. Ozpin. He figured it was still too early in the day for students to be sending him drafts, especially since his classes weren’t until the afternoon. If anything, they’d send drafts during class time. Or at least he’d hoped to get some just to give him something to steadily work on, even if he was mostly incapacitated at present. He looked down at the clock in the corner, 11:11 A.M.

There was a knock at the door, as if on cue.

“Coming,” Qrow squawked, hoarsely. He took up the blanket as though it were a cloak, and sat up, feet touching the cold floor. It took him two attempts to fully stand up, wavering as he did so. He shuffled to the door, hands clutching the blanket tightly. In the entryway, Qrow leaned up against the wall for support, and slowly opened the door.

Clover stood tall, a few plastic grocery bags in one hand, and the other hand hanging by his waist, fingers tapping on the outside of his thigh. He smiled at Qrow, but his expression immediately dropped when he got a look at the poor man.

Qrow was slumped against the door frame at this point, and his pallor was worrisome. He looked a ghost of himself, a feat once thought impossible by any who saw him at his best. Clover could see small beads of sweat on Qrow’s face, and some along his neck. Qrow grinned weakly up at him, and turned to walk inside, before the fatigue proved too much for his muscles, and he started to collapse.

“Woah!”

Qrow felt two strong hands catch him before he met the ground, but he heard the clatter of the items inside the plastic bags as they hit the ground. A muffled voice met his ears once, but he couldn’t make out what it had said. He held up a finger and made a circular motion. “Again?”

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” Qrow said, sarcastically. “Room’s spinning. Everything is heavy.”

“Hold on,” Clover warned. The two arms that were firmly clutching Qrow’s shoulders shifted positions. One stayed in place, while the other one withdrew. He felt it again moments later down by his legs. Before he could register what was happening, Clover scooped him up in one smooth motion, and stepped into the apartment.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked quietly, voice just loud enough to be heard by Qrow.

“Couch. But…your bags…”

“You first. I’ll pick those up in a minute,” Clover replied, smiling down at Qrow.

Qrow leaned into Clover’s shoulder as he was carried gently through his apartment, and he couldn’t help but marvel at just how easy it had been for Clover to pick him up. Sure, Qrow didn’t exactly have a steady diet, but there was no way he was that thin, was he? Still, Clover carried him ease, as if his weight was nonexistent.

Once in the living room, Clover laid him down, feet first, making sure he was fully supported as Qrow reclined fully on the couch. Before Qrow could thank him, Clover raised the back of his hand to Qrow’s forehead, brushing away some of the hairs that were stuck to his forehead with sweat. He unconsciously raised his head to meet the touch, and Clover’s eyes widened after a moment.

“My god, Qrow, you’re burning up,” he said, worried. His hand fell away from Qrow’s forehead, and the back of his fingers brushed Qrow’s cheek so lightly he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or not. “We need to get you to cool off.”

“I’m cold,” Qrow whispered.

“I know, but it feels like you have a high fever,” Clover explained. “I’ll be right back.”

Clover immediately took off back towards to door to collect the items he’d dropped. He stepped inside the apartment and closed the door, before he went to set the bags down on the kitchen counter, which was more cluttered than he’d left it a few weeks ago. Qrow heard Clover sigh, before he saw his colleague walk straight past him and back towards his bedroom. He heard the faint sounds of drawers opening and closing, and there was a pause in the rummaging for a minute or two.

Before long, Clover stepped back out with a large, red t-shirt and a pair of grey gym shorts which Qrow could swear he hadn’t seen in years. He walked over and placed the items on the coffee table, before sitting Qrow up on the couch.

“We have to get you into something lighter, you’re just going to raise your temperature higher if you wear that,” he explained, and Qrow clutched the drawstrings of his hoodie, before yanking them down, closing his hood.

“No. Too cold.”

“Work with me, Qrow.”

“No.”

“Can you make a sentence longer than three words?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Now who’s the baby?” Clover chuckled. “I promise I won’t look, but you really shouldn’t be wearing all of that. It’ll overheat you, and not even remotely get rid of your chills.”

Qrow looked from the clothes to Clover, and back again, thinking. He still felt as if he were standing outside in the late autumn wind and rain, so he pulled his arms in weakly, and wrapped them around himself, as if to say there was no way.

“Okay, now you’re just being stubborn,” Clover said, frowning. “I can draw you a lukewarm bath to try to help you balance out, but Qrow I can’t let you raise your own fever after I came all this way.”

He stood up and started moving back towards the kitchen. Qrow heard his colleague rummaging around again, cabinets opening and closing, until he heard a small “Aha!” The faucet ran briefly, and soon Clover was back out again with a glass of water and some bright orange pills in his hands.

“If you won’t change for now, can you at least take the medicine? We really need to get your fever down,” he pleaded.

Qrow struggled to sit up straighter, and he loosened the hood a bit. With a frown, he nodded to Clover and held out both of his hands.

Another trap.

In a series of swift motions that Qrow couldn’t keep up with in his lethargic and impaired state, Clover placed the glass and the pills on the coffee table before grabbing Qrow’s sleeves in one hand, and the hem of his sweatshirt in another. With a swift yank, Clover pulled the heavy garment off of Qrow’s upper body, and he groaned at the sudden loss of the fabric, feeling colder than before. He shot Clover the most pathetic look he could, mouth falling into a frown, sticking out his lower lip and giving him about as much of a sad-eyed look as he could without wanting to vomit from the mere notion. Much to his displeasure, Clover chucked the hoodie across the living room, and instead handed Qrow the large t-shirt.

“Please just bear with it,” Clover explained. “You’ll feel better when the chills go away. I promise”

He grabbed the glass and pills next, handing them to Qrow slowly.

Qrow looked on with suspicion at Clover’s outstretched hands.

“And my pants?” Qrow rolled his eyes.

“Nah, you’re better at taking them off than I am,” Clover said matter-of-factly. “Besides, I think the hoodie was more important. You can change into the shorts when you go to the restroom.”

Qrow’s eyes and mouth thinned as he stared hard at Clover, though eventually he lost the fight to remain stubborn as his head throbbed, and a coughing fit overtook him. He lurched heavily with each cough, body twisting and spasming painfully, before Clover pulled him in, and held him fast.

“Calm down,” he said gently. “Take deep, slow breaths. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Qrow did as he was told, and buried his mouth just below Clover’s shoulder, so he wouldn’t be coughing in his ear or his face. He kept coughing a few times, but with each deep breath in, he smelled that same smell that had been haunting him for weeks now. His heart was beating out of his chest, from the sickness and the coughing, and each of inhale seemed to make him relax, to make his breathing slow, to calm the spasming in his chest down. He gripped the sleeves of Clover’s shirt with both of his hands and continued as he was. The tension in his face started to relax, and his expression softened with each count.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

When the coughing fit seemed to be dying down, Clover pulled back, and instead went to hand Qrow the glass of water and the pills one more time. “Take these and relax. I’ve got you.”

Qrow simply nodded, and graciously took the remedy that was offered to him. It took him a few tries to be able to swallow the pills, and nearly all of the water was gone. When he’d finished, Clover offered up a smile. He helped Qrow recline again, before he stood up.

“Do you want to take a bath, or would you prefer to sleep? I can draw the water later,” he said. “If you want to sleep, I can make you lunch, something that shouldn’t be hard on your stomach.”

“Lunch sounds good,” Qrow replied slowly.

“Okay Mr. Three Words,” Clover leaned over and placed his hand gingerly on the side of Qrow’s face, patting it twice. “See? You already feel like you’re cooling off.”

“Fuck off,” Qrow grinned, leaning into the touch. He closed his eyes in contentment, and a few seconds passed before he realized he was still leaning into Clover’s palm. He opened his eyes to see Clover looking down at him, concern written all over his face. “I’ll be okay…” Qrow said somberly, keeping his voice low.

Clover threw his head backward and withdrew his hand as he let loose a loud belly laugh. If he dared, Qrow would have joined in, but he didn’t want to risk another coughing fit. “Okay, now you’re doing it on purpose!”

“Maybe…who knows?”

“How rude!”

“You love it.” Qrow couldn’t hold back anymore as he laughed, but the pounding in his head soon forced him to stop, as Clover’s response was lost on him. “What’d you say?”

“Uhhh…I…I said not…true? Yeah, not true,” Clover stuttered out, brow furrowed, before turning his head sideways, confusion crossing his face.

_And they say my memory is bad._

“A-anyways, I’m making you some miso soup,” Clover said. “My grandmother used to make it for me whenever I was sick. That and some rice, since that should be easy for you to have.”

“Sounds nice,” Qrow replied. “Thanks.”

The next hour passed in silence as Clover cleaned Qrow’s kitchen (for the second time in a month) before moving to make the soup. Qrow tried multiple times to drift off to sleep, but he couldn’t help but focus on Clover. Though he couldn’t see him over the back of the chair, he listened to every bit of him.

The steady footfalls on the tile, the deft way his hands moved and swiped as they cleaned the surfaces. Qrow wondered what song Clover was humming faintly to himself. It was catchy, on tune, and it eased Qrow. To Qrow, Clover was a total mystery. They’d been spending an increasingly large amount of time together preparing for the study abroad, which bled over into talks about other subjects and interests, though Qrow couldn’t remember much of what Clover said. Come to think of it, he really couldn’t remember Clover speaking much during those conversations, and even more worrisome, he couldn’t really name that many things he concretely knew about Clover.

He knew he was from Atlas.

He knew the classes he taught.

He knew that Clover was a workaholic.

And that was about it.

Clover had already volunteered to take care of him when he was sick and was steadily bringing Qrow back into working on some of his favorite projects, but why? He wanted to know more, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason why. Maybe it was because he felt their relationship was unbalanced. Maybe as they’d grown steadily closer, Qrow had actually enjoyed having Clover around. Maybe one day, he thought, Clover would look at him as a friend instead of as a nuisance or as a figurehead on a pedestal.

Another thing that still troubled Qrow was that he couldn’t figure out what Clover’s game was.

No one was ever this friendly towards him.

No one ever sucked up to him this much.

No, that wasn’t fair. Clover wasn’t sucking up.

Point aside, Qrow couldn’t figure out Clover’s motive, which was what he wanted to know more than any small detail about his life. Favorite musicians and movies be damned, he wanted to know why Clover was trying so hard. Was he after money? Was he after fame? Far too often had people entered and exited Qrow’s life for those reasons, and far too often did each one take a piece of him each time they left.

He wanted to know. He had to know.

But against his instincts.

Against his judgement.

Against his desire.

He would let Clover come to him.

He had to stop making assumptions, since he’d been proven wrong time and time again with his colleague. No…the thing that scared Qrow more than anything about Clover was how much he wanted to trust him. He wanted to take everything Clover said and did at face value. He wanted to joke and pretend that this fake camaraderie could become an actual friendship. He wanted to be able to hang out with Clover like they did on Halloween. He wanted to go to the library and talk about literature. He wanted to talk about their students. He wanted normalcy.

But he didn’t fucking know why.

Why Clover?

Why him?

Why now?

There were too many mysteries. So, for now he just focused on the concrete, the obvious, the knowable. He couldn’t let his mind wander. He had a tendency to assume the worst, and he’d already almost ruined their acquaintanceship a few times by doing so. He didn’t want to risk it.

As the afternoon carried on, Qrow took notes. Apparently the breakfast wasn’t a fluke, Clover’s miso and rice were also delicious, though he was pretty sure it was difficult to fuck even those up. Clover didn’t like television, because he thought it was too monotonous. If something was worthwhile to watch, he’d hear about it through the grape vine eventually. He was a bit of a neat freak. Every time he got up, Qrow could see him trying to hide the fact that he was putting something else away. He didn’t mind, and honestly, he would appreciate it if Clover just had at it and cleaned the whole apartment, but that would be too much even for him.

As the evening time rolled around, Qrow tried again to check his email on his phone, and he saw that there were now plenty of drafts from his students, as he’d predicted. He let out a small sigh, which Clover immediately clocked.

“What’s up?”

“Student drafts.”

“Want help? I’ll read them to you so you don’t have to strain your eyes,” Clover offered, but before Qrow could accept, he added an addendum. “I’ll help, but only if you respond with full sentences. I’m not going to write the feedback for you.”

“Fine, would you help me, please?” Qrow groaned, and Clover ruffled the hair on the top of his head suddenly, which cause Qrow to shout out as his hands flew up to the top of his head. “Hey!”

“You finally made a full sentence, and you said please! I’m so proud,” Clover smirked sarcastically. “You’re on your way to a speedy recovery.”

“Don’t shove me out of the nest that fast, I don’t know if I’ll be okay to go to class tomorrow,” Qrow stated.

“I know, which is why you’re staying home again, and I’ll take care of you,” Clover said as if it was the most natural response. “Well…we’ll see how you are in the morning, and if you’re okay enough for me to go teach, I’ll just be here in the afternoon.”

“But…”

“No buts. Now are we doing this or not?” Clover handed his laptop to Qrow, who entered his email information, and then passed the computer back. “Okay, poem or prose first?”

“Poems,” Qrow answered. “I could use the help giving feedback on them. I just don’t have a sense for poetry.”

“Then I will offer my expertise,” Clover smiled. Clover reached down into his own backpack at this point and pulled out a small case. He flicked it open and pulled out a pair of thick-framed glasses, which he delicately put on. He hesitated a moment, took them off, and used the cloth in the case to wipe one of the spots briefly before replacing them on his face. When he was satisfied, he put the case back in his bag, and pushed the glasses up with his left middle and ring fingers. He scrunched his nose and eyes a little bit, vision adjusting as he looked at the screen, and the little movement didn’t escape Qrow’s notice.

“Wow. A poet and a nerd,” Qrow laughed.

“I can always leave you to your own devices,” Clover said, lowering the glasses as he tilted his head to give Qrow a stern look over the black frame that made Qrow’s heart skip a beat. “Would you prefer that?”

“Sorry,” Qrow said sheepishly. “I just didn’t think you’d need readers, Mr. Perfect. I have a pair too, wireframe.”

“Still on the Mr. Perfect bit? And I know you do,” Clover spoke softly. “You often forget that they’re on top of your head when we’re doing paperwork.”

“Oh…I guess I do.”

“Can I get back to it?” Clover asked. Qrow slowly nodded, and Clover turned his attention to the computer screen. “Okay, this one’s by…oh…oh my god…”

“Well don’t read ahead! Who wrote it?”

“…I…your class is quite…mature…”

“Just read it.”

“Alright, fine,” Clover said, a hand over his mouth. “This one’s called _Apple of My Pie_. And before I read it, don’t fault me if I start laughing.”

“I won’t, just read it.”

“Fine! Here it is:

> 'There’s a Pie Shop on the corner  
> that’s open seven days a week.  
> Five days to the public  
> six days to the delivery trucks  
> seven days to the owner.
> 
> I was addicted  
> ever since I stepped foot inside  
> it’s crusty exterior. My first time  
> was awkward, not knowing what to  
> order. I stuck with what I knew  
> I would love, despite the owner pushing  
> to try new things. His hands  
> were delicate and swift  
> as they skimmed my Cherry  
> Pie, dusting some sugar over it.'”

“Skimmed what now?”

“Qrow stop, you’re going to make me laugh.

> 'I was lost in the sweetness  
> of the pastries.  
> God, were they delicious.  
> The juices, the textures, the flavors of  
> each individual treat strung me  
> further along. I knew  
> I was addicted to his  
> creations on the day I tasted his Adam’s Apple  
> Pie, drowning in the saccharine sensation.'”

Qrow’s hand rose to his mouth as Clover read, amusement creeping across his face.

> “Over the months he  
> brought me many new  
> delicacies to sample. Old  
> recipes and new, all  
> put on my plate. Twice a  
> month I stopped by the shop, and  
> he would greet me with a  
> Passion Peach Pie  
> Bountiful Banana Crème Pie  
> Berrylicious Pie  
> something  
> I hadn’t had before.
> 
> That is  
> until his sister caught us fucking after hours.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Qrow said, almost stunned, before he started laughing so hard he thought he would be sick. The innuendos were obvious, and even they were made somehow more hilarious by Clover’s reading voice. He sounded both disturbed and amused as he read out each of the pie names, stifling giggles as he went. After a few minutes, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and Clover slid down even further in his seat on the couch.

“Okay…so…did we like that one? Did we not like it?”

“Definitely like, but it was too heavy handed,” Clover responded.

“Oh, come on, I think it works here,” Qrow laughed, reclining on the couch. Instead of resuming his original position, he laid down this time with his head on Clover’s thigh as a pillow and kicked his legs up on the arm of the couch as he got more comfortable. “It was totally in theme.”

“The last line broke the entire theme,” Clover said, pushing his glasses up and ignoring Qrow’s new position. “If you’re going to use innuendos the entire time, you don’t just say the fuck word at the end. It’s totally counterproductive.”

“…the ‘fuck’ word? Pretty sure that’s just ‘fuck,’ Clover.”

“Shut up.”

“Well I like it,” Qrow said, crossing his arms. “Though, I think it needs a continuation. What happened after they got caught?”

“I think it’s supposed to be left up to the imagination,” Clover said, hand on his chin, brow furrowed.

“After leaving nothing to the imagination the entire time?”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“Whatever,” Qrow said, closing his eyes, finally feeling comfortable for the first time that day. The medicine was working, he was able to hold down food, and he’d been able to somewhat regulate his body temperature thanks to Clover. He listened to the light brush of Clover’s fingers on the track pad, and heard the click. This repeated a few times until Clover cleared his throat.

“Here’s another one. We need a serious one after that…whatever it was…”

“Comedy gold is what it was, pal,” Qrow snorted.

“Keep dreaming. This one doesn’t have a title,” Clover said. “Looks like they’re still just workshopping it.”

“I can respect that. I come up with my titles last,” Qrow nodded.

“Me too,” Clover agreed. “Anyways, here it is.”

Clover’s tone changed as he started reading. From the start to the end, Qrow remained silent, enthralled by Clover’s pacing of the words and the emotion he seemed to pour into them, a talent Qrow never had when it came to poetry.

> “I think I  
> made the right  
> choice.  
> I’m sorry if in any way my words  
> stung and my actions tore at your  
> essence in the midst  
> of those times. But  
> now it hurts to think about  
> the time you said you  
> wished you  
> could  
> love  
> me.
> 
> Evenings now are spent lying  
> awake, and pondering what you said  
> that made me  
> feel like  
> less  
> of a person than everyone  
> else, but simultaneously so much  
> more.
> 
> Early days, those early days I  
> long for, but now they’re suspended in  
> my ice.  
> Just once I’d like to return and  
> stop myself so that you’d be  
> happy.
> 
> And yet you were the cruelest  
> not only by word but by actions.  
> You  
> damned my being to  
> your finger, ever wrapped  
> around it.
> 
> Maybe I’m just  
> a fool who  
> deserves it.
> 
> Just lying in wait, praying  
> one day for your blessed  
> ether to overtake me  
> completely.”

The silence between the two of them was deafening and unbearably lengthy as Clover finished reading the poem.

"Clover...who wrote that one?

“That was…it was…” Clover said, his breathing shaky. “Blake…I think.” Apparently being the voice for the poem had taken a lot out of him. Even just hearing Clover read the words out loud hit Qrow like a speeding truck.

He tried again and again to dissect what he’d heard, not even sure where to begin. He found his mind wandering to Blake, the girl who always hesitated whenever anyone started speaking, the girl who never seemed to put herself first, the one who in class wanted to fade to the background, but was completely different when her fellow students were gone.

“She’s got some scars, huh?” Qrow mused, opening his eyes, and looking up at a visibly shaken Clover.

“Yeah…sounds like it…”

Qrow moved on instinct, as he forced himself up to a sitting position. Clover stared at him for a moment, eyes wide before Qrow threw an arm around him and pulled himself a little closer. Qrow rested his head on Clover’s shoulder, as their sides were flush together. Qrow rested his other hand at the crook of Clover’s elbow, thumb rubbing up and down.

“I can only imagine what she’s been through…she seems like such a sweet girl.”

“Maybe…maybe she just needs to talk.”

“I’m not the person for that, but I can let Yang know,” Qrow mused. “Or do you think that’s overstepping my bounds?”

“I think that you should just make yourself available, not necessarily in an obvious way, but like if the conversation ever comes up, I don’t think it should be on your terms,” Clover said, voice steadying as he placed his own hand on top of Qrow’s. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, yeah it does,” Qrow nodded. “But I do worry.”

“I’m sure if the situation calls for it, you’ll do what’s right,” Clover reassured, giving Qrow’s hand a squeeze. “Now then, let’s find a nice middle ground…how many of these poems do you think are about a pet?”

“Hmmmm…I’m going to say…at least four,” Qrow ventured a guess.

“Really? That many? I’m going to say two, no more, no less,” Clover declared. “I’m willing to bet money on it.”

“What? That’s not fair, you’ve had time to look at some of the emails!”

“I’m just kidding too, I don’t like betting money,” Clover chuckled.

Over the next two hours, they worked their way through the rest of the poems. Some had taken longer than others, and now that Qrow was sitting up to look at the screen, he could see Clover in action, breaking down and taking the lines as they came to him. Whether or not that was the way they were intended to be read, Clover’s voice seemed to fit almost all of the poems to some degree, though none of them had impacted him nearly as much as when Clover read Blake’s poem aloud. Still, he paused at the right moments, and subtle inflections gave new layers to different poems.

If Qrow had tried to read them himself, he wouldn’t have paused. He probably would have just read them as though they were prose pieces. He’d never been one for poetry, and he immensely admired those with a talent for it. Sure, Qrow had the flowery language for beautiful narrative prose, but he didn’t think it would translate well to prose poetry. He knew nothing about the science or intuition behind line breaks, and thought that most of the time they were just random smacks of the enter key.

But no detail escaped Clover’s eye.

He read each poem with a care, finesse, and reverence Qrow wouldn’t have even considered. It was as if he was personally analyzing each poem as he went, trying to approximate where to venture a pause, and whether or not each line break seemed to work. At times, Qrow got distracted watching him. If he liked a line, his eyebrows raised slightly, if he liked it a lot, he would also push up his readers with his middle and ring finger, and lean in more, as if to get a closer look. Anytime he encountered a line he disliked, his face would twist into a quizzical grimace, trying to figure out if there was a better way to break up the content or word it so that it wasn’t so blasé.

Qrow wondered if Clover knew he had these little giveaways before he turned the introspection inward. Qrow was sure he had some tells when it came to reviewing the prose of the students, but he didn’t quite know what his subconscious reactions were. Maybe he did something akin to Clover, or maybe his reactions were completely different. Maybe Qrow would relax in his seat instead of leaning forward. The only reaction he could remember to particularly bad prose was laughing out loud before stepping away from the piece.

Before long, Clover made another meal, this time just some chicken noodle soup, and they reconvened on the couch to continue their review of the student submissions. This time, instead of reviewing Qrow’s students’ work, they reviewed some of the submissions Clover had gotten. It completely skipped over Qrow’s mind that Clover left his classes early and didn’t even attend the afternoon one that he normally taught before Qrow. He’d have to thank him later for his assistance. Oh well, with the holidays coming up, maybe he could get him a good Christmas gift or something, or he’d snag Clover a nice souvenir from their time in Atlas.

Qrow couldn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep that evening, but it was somewhere amidst Clover’s breakdowns of poems and the faint music they’d had playing in the background. After their dinner, Clover insisted Qrow take cold and flu medicine to prepare for going to bed. It had the added side effect of drowsiness to help him sleep while the pills suppressed his symptoms, hopefully affording him a full night’s rest that he seriously needed. Yet between the notes in the air and the words on the screen, Qrow couldn’t help but drift away to sleep. He came to as he felt strong arms take their positions underneath his legs and torso as they had earlier, and he was easily lifted off of the living room couch. His eyes fluttered open briefly, and Clover smiled down at him with a tenderness that put him at ease as he was carried back towards his bedroom.

Clover laid Qrow down gently, and Qrow felt sleep rapidly claiming him once again. The medicine had kicked in, and Qrow was fighting to maintain consciousness long enough to thank Clover, a battle he was sorely losing. As Qrow closed his eyes to sleep in the dark room, illuminated only by a faint strip of light coming through the crack in the door, Qrow could have sworn he felt the delicate sensation of soft lips gently placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Good night, baby bird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here!! Thanks again for reading my newest chapter!!! I really hope you all enjoyed it, even though I tried some new things in here...I feel like at this point a lot of my writing is experimental...but that can be good sometimes, I think! You gotta take risks every now and then! Originally, I was just going to include the untitled poem, but then the chapter just felt really serious and feelings heavy, so I wanted a little levity because let's be honest...RWBY is kinda playing with our emotions right now.
> 
> I am, by no means, a poet, though I did write both of the poems in this chapter, so I hope that you all enjoy (at least one) of the poems, but that you enjoyed the rest of the chapter as well! Seriously though, I can't stress enough how much your support encourages me and motivates me. I'm so glad to be able to give something back to the RWBY/Fair Game community, and you've all been seriously amazing. I'm so lucky to have you all reading this story, and every time you all reach out and let me know, it seriously puts a huge smile on my face and makes it all worth it. Please, please, please let me know what you think! Kudos, comments, reblogs on Tumblr, and anything in that realm is hugely appreciated. I can happily say we are rapidly approaching the study abroad chapters, and I'm so so so excited to show those to you all!
> 
> As always, you can follow or reach me on my Tumblr: https://smol--jelly.tumblr.com
> 
> I post status updates and links to new chapters, and sneak peeks when chapters are completed (before they're edited). I hope you all have a lovely weekend!
> 
> Love,  
> Jelly ♥


	6. Frustrating Acquaintance and Soothing Companion

“You’re late, Qrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, can we skip the guilt routine? We all know it at this point,” Qrow sighed, stepping into the house. As close as they all were, the Branwens and the Xiao Long-Rose household didn’t really get together all that often for a family dinner. Sure, the adults would gather from time to time in Beacon, but hardly did they ever all meet out in Patch. The only exception was birthdays or holidays, like Thanksgiving, since the upcoming Christmas was off of the table.

Yang used to tag along with Qrow when he went to Atlas before, only so she could break away and hit the slopes. An avid snowboarder, she hadn’t been on her board since her uncle stopped leading the trip. But now that he was back on the bandwagon, Yang had done nothing but brag about Atlesian ski slopes and all of the fresh powder she’d be shredding soon enough.

Ruby was also coming this year, because the white-haired girl Qrow jokingly called Winter Jr. was not just a friend, but a girlfriend. She used to get depressed when it was just her and her parents for Christmas without Yang, so she was going to spend Christmas with Weiss in Atlas, where she could still spend part of the holidays with her sister as well. With the fact that Qrow and the girls would be gone for the winter holidays, Summer, Tai, and Raven had insisted that Thanksgiving be held in Patch, with Weiss at the table as well. If their girls were going away for a holiday, then one could be traded.

“How are you feeling?” Raven asked, barely looking up as Qrow walked in.

“Feeling better now,” Qrow responded. “Much better, actually.”

Raven and Ruby looked to be in a very tense game of Jenga. The seemingly unstable tower shook every time Raven thought she’d picked a suitable piece. She pointed over Ruby’s shoulder and made a loud sound, which caused Ruby to turn around. At that moment, Raven quickly yanked a piece and placed it on top of the tower with surgical precision.

“Aw, that’s the piece I wanted!”

“You know kid, you really shouldn’t stare so hard at the things you want,” Raven smirked. “People are bound to figure it out with it telegraphed on your face.”

“That never stopped you, Rae.”

She shot him a look, and Qrow immediately stepped further out of punching distance.

Yang and Weiss were also in the living room, with Yang playing video games and Weiss busy scribbling something in a notebook. Weiss looked up at him, gave him a once over, and immediately went back to writing in her book. He fought to suppress a grimace, and he had to wonder what Ruby saw in the girl who’d been so blatantly disrespectful to him the two times their paths had crossed. He shrugged it off.

Tai and Summer were emerging from the kitchen, carrying different plates and dishes. They set down several of the dishes on either side of a long, crimson table runner that was draped over their dining room table before coming over to greet him.

“Sorry we couldn’t help,” Summer said, greeting Qrow with a large hug. “We would have if we could, but we were out of commission too.”

“That’s alright,” Qrow said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I had help anyways.”

“Oh?” Tai approached the two, a surprised look on his face. “You did? Who?”

“It’s no big deal,” Qrow turned his head. “You remember my colleague, Mr. Perfect?”

“Clover came?” Summer perked up. “Another point in his favor!”

“Yeah, he helped me during the week,” Qrow explained. “I’m just lucky he was able to find someone to fill in for him while he was away too.”

“He didn’t.”

Qrow heard the sound of a book close rather forcefully behind him. He turned around to see Weiss rising from the couch. As he faced her, he heard Summer and Tai make their way back towards the kitchen.

“Pardon my intrusion,” Weiss said as she gently placed the book and her pen down on the coffee table in front of her. She took a few steps towards him and lowered her voice before she spoke again. “He didn’t find someone to substitute for him.”

“How would you know?” Qrow asked, rolling his eyes.

“Because I’m in the class he left halfway through Monday morning,” Weiss answered, brushing a few stray hairs out of her eyes. “During class on Monday, he just got up and said that he had some urgent business to take care of, and then he left. He sent us home early.”

“Well…that’s just Monday,” Qrow played it off.

“Nope, he didn’t come in the whole week, and we just got an email telling us to send him drafts if we wanted feedback on our work. Something about an open workshop week,” Weiss continued. “He told us we didn’t have to come in. I sent him my work, and the feedback was…less…than what it’s been in the past.”

The way she said “less” made Qrow’s blood start to boil.

“Did you consider the possibility that your work was _less_ than stellar, Miss Schnee?” Qrow practically hissed the word.

“The though never crossed my mind, and it still has yet to,” Weiss grinned proudly. “But if your undue influence compromised my professor’s opinions, maybe I should make a departmental inquiry?”

“Miss Schnee, the only thing undue right now is your insinuations,” he replied, balling his fists. “Professor Ebi is more than capable of critiquing your poetry without giving it a second thought or utilizing any of his poetic talents. Perhaps you should think about where you are, who’s family, and who you are specifically talking to in such a manner. You’re a _bright_ young girl. If you have a problem, take it up in office hours.”

“I intend to.”

Qrow gave her the fakest smile he could, making no attempt to conceal his displeasure with the girl. She frowned and her eyes narrowed, before she made her way back to the couch.

It was going to be a long day.

As Qrow made his way towards the kitchen, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to Clover.

“Is Weiss Schnee always so stuck up in class?”

Send.

He reread the message, and before he moved to put the phone back in his pocket, he saw three little dots pop up, followed by a message a few moments later.

“Not really, if anything she’s a bit of a suck up. Why?”

“She’s at my niece’s house for Thanksgiving, and she didn’t sound happy about last week,” Qrow typed. “Oh. Happy Thanksgiving by the way.”

The three dots popped up immediately.

“Ah, tell me how that goes, and same.”

“You doing anything?” Qrow typed, but the sound of his name drew his attention elsewhere. He locked his phone and placed it back in his pocket. He could always check it later.

Summer and Tai were busy uncovering dishes and taking others out of the oven for plating. While Summer was carving the turkey, Tai was finishing off some mashed potatoes. They instructed Qrow to take enough dishes out to set the table, and he thought for a brief moment about not bringing a plate out for Winter Junior before deciding against it. Funny as it would be, he didn’t need to start another fight with another Schnee lady.

Summer and Tai gave him task after ask to finish preparing for the dinner, the last of which was pour the wine. He got out four glasses and started pouring, trying to split the bottle as evenly as possible. When he was sure that he only barely had more than the rest of the others, he carried the glasses out and set them on the table as well.

After tricking Zwei outside with some treats in order to avoid having the little dog consume everything in sight, everyone started piling their plates with bits and pieces of each item from the immense spread. Tai was a whiz in the kitchen, and Summer knew how to cook a mean turkey. Raven claimed she helped make a few dishes, but judging by the look of them, she just threw some random greens on top and called it “garnishing.”

Once Qrow was satisfied with what was on his plate, he sat down, last at the table as usual. He’d wished that one year he sat down so late that he’d missed the worst part of every Thanksgiving.

“Alright everyone, you know the drill, we’re gonna go around and say what we’re all thankful for this year,” Summer declared loudly.

Missing that would be something to be thankful for.

Qrow zoned out as they started going around the table, because it was always a lot of the same, cliché answers that everyone always gave year after year. Family, friends, love, the meal, grades, whatever. After hearing it year in and year out, Qrow could almost guess what each person would say with 100% accuracy if he deigned to do so. He stared at the wine glass, wondering just how easy it would be to finish the entire glass while Weiss or his sister spoke. That thought soon passed, but the sentiment of downing the glass remained. With a sigh, he pulled out his phone, remembering that Clover probably sent him a reply. When his screen lit up, his mouth fell into a frown at the response waiting for him.

“Nothing. I’ll give you three guesses who I caught the flu from.”

“You’re not doing anything?” Qrow’s fingers flew as he typed his concerned response, and the three dots popped up the moment the message was delivered, as if the other participant in the conversation never left.

“Just sitting here,” Clover replied.

“Send me your address,” Qrow typed hastily. He was about to type another message when he was sure he heard his name.

“Huh?”

“Anything you’re thankful for?” Summer repeated.

“Or something you want to share, typing away down there?” Raven said pointedly.

“Uhh…I have to go,” Qrow stated. “Sorry, urgent matter that really has to be corrected right away.”

“I’m getting déjà vu,” Weiss whispered loudly to Ruby, and Qrow rolled his eyes.

“Can I take some plates to go?” Qrow turned towards Summer. “I’ll even wash them and return them right away this time.”

“I doubt that…but if you really have to go,” Summer resigned. “Sure, and don’t worry, I know you’ll forget to return them for a few weeks.”

“Thanks, Summer,” he said, giving her a hug. “Sorry everyone, we’ll have to do this again. Pleasure seeing you again, Miss Schnee.”

Qrow packed another plate as full as he could, before carrying them to the kitchen. As he started wrapping them for transit, Summer snuck up behind him.

“You want to bring some dessert for him too?”

“Him who?”

“Qrow you have two plates and no notable friends outside of this house except Ozpin and Glynda, who go on their annual vacation this time of year, and Clover, who probably caught your flu from last week.”

“Maybe I want two plates,” he mused, and she cocked her eyebrow. Qrow deflated a little bit. “Fine…yes…he caught my flu, but he’s also alone right now and you guys have the whole family here. I can always come next year.”

“You better bring him next time if he’s planning on getting food from us anyways.”

* * *

Qrow had the entire drive to rethink his decision to go visit Clover.

Yet he didn’t.

He was focused on the singular goal of helping Clover get better. He thought about picking up medicine or something on his way, but knowing Clover, he’d already had what was needed. Eventually, Qrow realized that Clover could probably take care of himself, and that Qrow’s presence wouldn’t speed the recovery. If anything, he was stepping back into the contaminated zone when he was finally on his feet again, but he pushed those thoughts away. It didn’t matter if Clover could take care of himself or not, it was still a holiday, and no one should be alone on a holiday. Or at least, that’s what Qrow told himself.

As he left his family.

For a coworker.

Who he barely knew.

Qrow shook his head once again, as if the movement would physically flick away any reservations he had about his decision. If he really didn’t want to, he would have simply turned around long before now. Every exit, every mile, every minute, every second was an opportunity for Qrow to turn around and head back to Patch to be with his family and their guest. If he had any reservations at all, he would have acted on them, made some excuse, and turned around to the warm house and home that he’d just left. That was just Qrow’s style.

But no, he was determined the whole drive over to sit with Clover.

It wasn’t until Qrow stepped out of his car, parked along the street outside Clover’s apartment, where he saw the convenience store on the corner, that he froze. Memories of the morning in the beginning of October flooded his mind. Not so much the images, but more so their objective fact of existing. He couldn’t remember anything about Clover’s apartment, or anything about his surroundings. No, the only concrete image he had was staring across the street at…

He moved.

He had to.

If he didn’t now, he wouldn’t.

He would leave without accomplishing anything. He’d already driven, and that was most of the fight, so why was this the hard part? Qrow crossed the street, stepping into the lobby of the apartment. The office was lined with ionic columns that looked a mix between functional and decorative. A marble fountain in the back was gently trickling water into its basin, while classical music was playing through some hidden speakers, just faintly enough to be heard.

Qrow wanted to know what the rent was and if they had any vacant apartments.

This time, the elevator instantly opened up, welcoming him in with a soft sound. It sped up towards Clover’s floor, not stopping once. As he exited, he walked down the hallway, counting the numbers. He reached Clover’s door, but before he knocked, curiosity got the better of him, and he turned towards the stairs. He balanced both of the plates of food on one arm, before reaching towards the door. This time, when he pulled on the handle, the door swung open with him, without resistance. He sighed, remembering how it had been jammed the last time he’d tried to open it. But that was usually his luck.

He turned back towards Clover’s door and paused once again.

One deep breath.

Two.

And a knock.

His phone vibrated a moment later, with a message from Clover saying: “Door’s unlocked.”

As he stepped across the threshold, he was overwhelmed by a few things.

The last time he’d been in the apartment, he could only remember leaving it. He didn’t remember any small detail, just that he’d been looking for the door. He remembered accidentally opening a door to a small study of some kind before finding the right door to leave. He thought he remembered the scent of the apartment, but apparently that was only Clover’s cologne, and not the ambience for the rest of the apartment.

Qrow couldn’t quite figure out what he expected. Judging from Clover’s pragmatic personality, and his seemingly endless enthusiasm for books, he pictured a minimalistic apartment, with sparse furniture, and maybe a few full bookshelves. He pictured a tasteful painting or two on the wall, something the liven up the otherwise monochromatic room. He couldn’t figure out why he’d pictured such a dull apartment. Maybe it had something to do with his perfect persona. No, Clover was someone full of life, who exuded it with each experience, positive or negative.

As such, so did his apartment.

Qrow took a deep breath, and the quality of the air was noticeably better than the rest of the building, the rest of the city, even. As he opened his eyes again, he tried to take in all of the greenery. Everywhere he looked, it was as though he was discovering some new plant home. There were spider plants sitting on the bookshelves, various ferns and other greens scattered on tables and accentuating the otherwise white space. The jade plant on one of the tables by the window was vibrant in the setting sun, and Qrow noticed a large stone pot with purple flowers sticking out of it beneath the window as well, which he recognized as lavender. The sterility and monochrome of the white furniture and walls made the plants and the hardwood floor really stand out.

But it wasn’t necessarily just the plants.

Every accent looked thought out. The pictures in the shelves all popped with color, the pillows were vibrant, the curtains open on either side of the large windows also provided subtle accents to the room. Qrow drank it all in, and when he got to the kitchen area, he noticed the small pots, presumably with herbs Clover used for cooking. He wondered how the man had time to even take care of all of the plants, but then he remembered the proximity of the apartment to campus, and he would surely have time to pop over and water them between office hours and classes.

“So I take it you like the place?”

The voice took Qrow by surprise, as he looked towards the living area, where Clover was laid out on the couch. He had a light knit quilt covering most of his body, and his faded navy tank top was poking out from beneath, pulled taught across his shoulders and torso. His hair was slightly disheveled, but still spiked in a shape that resembled the normal quaff. Clover’s glasses were resting on the tip of his nose, the book that laid closed in his hands no doubt the cause. He looked a little pale, but none the worse for wear, and he seemed to be more than fine sitting up and addressing Qrow, which caused the blanket to fall away from his torso and pool at his waist, exposing the rest of his upper body and the thin tank top.

Clover raised both of his arms above his head, groaning as he stretched. He scrunched his face as he continued reaching up, eyes shutting, and Qrow’s eyes drifted downward as the hem of his tank top also rose just enough for Qrow to catch a glimpse of bare skin, and the faint hint of a trail of short, well manscaped hair poking out from his waistband. Qrow forced himself to look somewhere else as Clover exhaled and put his arms down. It was easy to find places to look, since Qrow had long since fancied an apartment like this, though he didn’t think himself the type to have the time or the energy to take care of so many plants.

“I take your silence as a yes about the apartment then?”

“Oh…yeah…it’s alright I guess.”

“Qrow, you’re staring.”

“Shut up, Mr. Plant Dad.”

“I do love them.”

Qrow couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he made his way over to where Clover was. Next to the couch sat a lined, empty trash can, and there was a tissue box and glass of water within reach. From up close, Qrow could see small beads of sweat on Clover’s brow, and he had slight bags under his eyes. The trash can was empty, thank goodness, though it probably hadn’t been that way the entire time. As Qrow sat down, he set the two covered plates on the coffee table, and Clover tilted his head.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“I brought some travel plates,” Qrow explained. “You’re sick and it’s a holiday. I don’t know how much you can eat, but you shouldn’t be without a nice dinner.”

“Qrow this…thanks,” Clover replied, beaming at him. “There’s forks and knives in the kitchen, second drawer on the right, right at hip height.”

Qrow nodded and went to the kitchen. As he pulled open the drawer, he noted the sorting case, which had neatly organized a drawer that would have been otherwise chaotic in Qrow’s own apartment. In fact, as he rummaged around looking for cups, everything seemed to have a nice place of its own instead of just being haphazardly stashed. He turned on the tap, pouring himself a glass of water before he called out.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Maybe some napkins,” Clover replied. “There’s a holder for them next to the fridge.”

Sure enough, nested in a small, square, wooden holder were the aforementioned napkins. Qrow couldn’t even remember the last time he’d used a napkin in his house instead of a paper towel. They were both being used for the same purpose, and one was more absorbent than the other, so why would he have to use two different things?

Before long, they both had turned the coffee table into a pseudo dining space, with both of them sitting on the ground, backs resting against the couch, and pillows underneath them for comfort. Clover still had the blanket draped over the lower half of his body, and Qrow had discarded his jacket and tie, and rolled the sleeves up on his button-up, grey shirt, but not before unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt.

They dug in, or at least Qrow did, while Clover took his time sampling everything on the plate. It took Qrow a minute to realize that Clover still was unsure what his stomach could handle. He put his own plate down, looking at Clover as he did so.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to eat?”

“Qrow, I’m fine, I can keep food down,” Clover laughed.

“Okay, but save some room, because I left the dessert in my car,” Qrow smirked, giving Clover’s shoulder a playful shove. “Can’t have you filling up on turkey and sides.”

“Honestly I could stand to fill up on something other than rice and broth,” Clover shrugged. “It’s been a rough few days.”

“Speaking of rough, you know Weiss is pissed with you, right?” Qrow said.

“Why?” Clover responded in turn.

“She said something about how your absence caused your feedback on her poem to be lacking.”

“I swear, she’s happier when I tell her something she can work on instead of just saying something’s fine.”

“Must be rough.”

“No,” Clover mused. “She’s a talented poet, even if she only joined my class to work on lyrics. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a perfectionist, and she wants everyone to rise to her level, but she means well, I can tell.”

“Well she seemed pretty pissed earlier,” Qrow noted, leaning his head back so that it rested on the couch as he stared up at the ceiling. He debated telling Clover that Weiss knew where he’d truly been the week before, but then again, Clover said his classes were taken care of, so he thought he’d keep the Weiss bit to himself.

“I’ll offer to re-examine her poem, if it’ll make her feel better,” Clover sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Can we not talk about work right now?”

“That’s fine with me,” Qrow replied, nodding his head.

They passed the rest of their meal with idle chatter, and it quickly became apparent to Qrow again just how little he knew about Clover. He didn’t know remotely what to talk about to strike up a conversation with him. Would he like chatting about music? What about movies? Maybe they watched different things on television. Qrow’s indecision wasn’t so much based on common ground, but rather, he wasn’t sure what was a significant enough question that would give him an opening.

He tried time and time again to think of different conversation topics, and then it hit him. The laugh started low in his throat, and slowly started evolving into a fuller, livelier laugh as the realization dawned on him. Clover stared at Qrow expectantly, and when Qrow took one look at Clover’s teal green eyes, he calmed down enough to speak.

“You know your name, right?” he said, chuckling.

“I know of it,” Clover said, hesitantly.

“You have to admit it’s a bit ironic, given your apartment,” Qrow snickered.

“I…I don’t get it…”

“Oh come on, you can’t tell me that the fact that your name is literally a plant and the fact that your apartment is all decked out in them isn’t even the tiniest bit funny to you?” Qrow doubled over in laughter as a whole boatload of jokes ran through his mind. If Clover hadn’t seriously thought it over, he might be a little denser than Qrow initially estimated. He continued to shake with laughter, and he threw a sudden arm around Clover, pulling him toward him and jabbing a finger at his chest. He looked up at him again, faces closer than he initially anticipated, but he continued. “Seriously…you can’t tell me you didn’t think this is funny!”

He stared at Clover, body still reverberating with mirth, and a smile started to creep across Clover’s face. Before long, the two were laughing, and practically rolling around on the floor, but the contact between the two of them never broke. After a minute or two, when the merriment started to level off, they sat back up, staring at one another, chuckling a little bit.

“You’ve got to have at least one pot with clovers in them,” Qrow said.

“Nope, not one. I think that would be a step too far.”

Qrow frowned at the missed opportunity, but perhaps if they became closer friends, he would give Clover a pot of them for his birthday. He broke from the thought to find Clover staring at him, cheeks flushed, and he instinctively reached out a hand. Qrow brought the back of his hand up to Clover’s forehead, before brushing it down against his cheek as Clover had done to him. When his hand reached Clover’s cheek, he saw the other man’s eyes widen, and his body seemed to tense up.

“Uh…Qrow…”

“You don’t have a fever…but your face is pretty red,” he explained. “Are you sure you’ve been drinking enough fluids?”

Clover practically bolted away from Qrow to grab his glass of water off of the side table and downed it all in one gulp, and Qrow pinched the bridge of his nose. Qrow only meant to suggest drinking a little more, not the whole glass at once. Saturation wasn’t the answer, hydration was. No wonder Clover was still feverish if that was how he was managing his intake of liquids.

As the two finished their meal, Qrow carried their plates to the sink, and started running the water. He started scrubbing each plate carefully with the sponge resting on the side, before he was interrupted by Clover’s entrance into the kitchen.

“So you do actually clean.”

“It’s not my house,” Qrow shrugged.

“Let me do it,” Clover said, stepping awfully close, and Qrow held up a hand in Clover’s face.

“Nope, you’re sick. Go take a turkey nap or something,” he said. “I’ll clean up, and after you rest a little more, we can have dessert.”

“Okay, Dr. Branwen,” Clover chuckled, stepping away from him.

“Damn right I’m a doctor, and don’t you forget it.”

Qrow finished cleaning the dishes, and he walked back out to join Clover on the couch to watch a little bit of television. There were a few movies on, some football game that neither of them seemed to care about too much, and various television shows. Within minutes, the channel surfing stopped altogether, when Qrow looked to his left to find Clover fully reclined, eyes closed. Qrow grinned softly as he saw Clover’s mouth open up slightly, and his rhythmic breathing slowed.

Qrow reached over, and took the glasses off of Clover’s face gently. He didn’t want to disturb him, and he also didn’t want Clover to accidentally roll over and have them drop or get dinged up. He set them on the table, and his attention immediately turned to the book he had when Qrow first arrived. He picked it up carefully, and on further inspection, it appeared to be a notebook of some kind. He flipped through the pages, not really trying to read anything, but every page was jam packed, and it looked like he was quickly running out of real estate in the leather-bound pages.

Closing the book quietly, Qrow stood up, and started tiptoeing around the apartment, trying to locate the study. He didn’t think that Clover would want his book of notes shoved on any random bookshelf, and who knows, maybe Qrow could return the favor by finding somewhere else in Clover’s apartment that needed cleaning. Not that it mattered to him, but it only seemed fair to reciprocate when Clover had been so obviously eager to do the same for him in the past.

He opened one door, finding a washer and dryer, and he underlined the mental note to ask what the rent for the apartment was. Across from him was the door to the study, which looked just as pristine as the rest of the apartment. The room was lined with bookshelves that were packed to the brim with different titles, and genres. Qrow could have spent hours upon hours just browsing the collection, and he’d be content as ever. He wondered just how much of it was poetry, and how much of it was fiction. How much was analytical, and how much of it was fantastical?

The top shelf of each bookshelf was full up with English ivies that had been directed and trimmed in a way to almost hide the wood between each shelf, providing a beautiful canopy for the soon to be reader browsing the collection.

On the desk there was a magnificent peace lily, and stacks upon stacks of notebooks. Qrow started to make his way over, before curiosity got the better of him and he turned back towards the shelves, inspecting some of the titles. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Clover organizing the whole library-like study with a style and rigidity seen only in the aforementioned building. Maybe he once had a book cart for books slated to be returned to the shelves. He laughed inwardly at the mental image of Clover sorting through his books with some sort of homemade card catalogue system.

Two bookshelves alone were dedicated to poetry collections and compendiums. Qrow recognized some of the poets’ names as poets he’d assigned students to read in class. Of course, there was also some of Clover’s own work, which he had in duplicate. Qrow knew it wasn’t out of vanity, but still, he was surprised that Clover hadn’t picked a luckier or funnier number. Truly the man was practical and minimal, with not a single item in the apartment being something waste worthy. As he moved from bookshelf to bookshelf, he paused. At the top of one of the shelves, tucked away behind the ivy, he spotted something he recognized.

He gently moved the leaves out of the way and found himself staring at a shelf full of his featured novels, also in duplicate. He knew that the department gave out copies every time a professor published a new book, but why did he have two copies of his books? Qrow had taken a few of Clover’s poetry collections when Clover started teaching, but he stopped taking Clover’s books home after a few years. Clover, however, appeared to have every major release of Qrow’s, and even some of the lesser known ones. But still, why did he have two, and for each pristine copy, why was the other so worn?

Maybe he was a fan? Or maybe he just wanted to get to know his colleagues work? Qrow looked around for some of the other authors in the department, and saw a few works here and there, but none of Clover’s collections for them were as thorough as they were for Qrow. He lingered for a moment longer, running his fingers along the spines of the books, when an idea hit him.

He backed away from the shelf, and stepped over towards the desk, finally accomplishing his original goal of returning the notebook to its true home. He looked over the desk searching for a pen or something to write with, fully planning on signing each of the pristine copies. Who knew, maybe in a few years, they’d be worth a lot more money. Sure, he was popular enough now, but a collection like this needed to age.

Qrow started shuffling notebooks around looking for a stray pen, when he decided he’d have better luck looking through the drawers of the desk, but when he opened the first one, he gave up on the idea of autographs. Sitting in the middle of the drawer was a small stack of unsealed envelopes. They had Clover’s address on them in the return field, and each one had a stamp, but there was no address of a recipient. The name of the recipient was what truly grabbed Qrow’s attention without fail.

_Beloved._

Something inside of Qrow urged him onward, but he didn’t know what. It was powerful, and it screamed at him to take a peek, to quench his thirst for knowledge, even if this did seem to cross a line. He gravitated towards the letter, hurtling towards an unseen destination, Qrow fought the desperate urge to sneak a peek. He looked up at the door, and stilled his breathing and motion. He listened for a few moments to see if he could hear any noises coming from Clover in the living room, and after a minute or two of silence, he decided that now was as good a shot as ever.

He wanted to know.

He had to know.

He wanted…

Qrow picked up the stack of letters, making sure to turn the first one sideways as he moved it to the bottom of the pile, careful to keep them in the same order so that their author wouldn’t be able to discover any tampering. Sure enough, each envelope shared the same appearance as the first.

A stamp. Clover’s address. Beloved. No sending address.

A stamp. Clover’s address.

Beloved. No sending address.

A stamp. Clover’s address.

Beloved.

Beloved.

 _Beloved_.

Qrow’s chest grew tight as he read the recipient on each envelope, six in total. Each time he read the word, a different emotion came across, and he’d never admit that most of them were negative, ugly feelings. A word that was supposed to be something beautiful sat there taunting Qrow, pristine lettering sneering up at him. He wanted nothing more than to take the letters out and read them.

Who was it? What did they look like? What were they like? What had they done that warranted this many letters? Did Clover ever intend to send them? Did the recipient even _deserve_ to get them? Did they _deserve_ Clover? Would Clover stop hanging around Qrow? Would they go back to living their lives separately? Would Qrow go back to being alone?

He didn’t want to be alone.

He didn’t want that.

He couldn’t do it again.

He didn’t want to lose his new friend.

He didn’t want to lose Clover as a friend.

And if Clover and his beloved ever got together, Qrow knew that like all the rest, Clover would in turn abandon him.

Qrow tried to catch his breath, as he could feel himself slipping down into darker places, his mind racing, his pulse quickening. This is what he deserved for looking where he shouldn’t have. His idle curiosity quickly devolved into a primal fear, a fear that he knew all too well, proven time and again by those who he’d thought near and dear. The worst part wasn’t even that Clover found someone, and that someone would take Clover’s free time away. No, the worst part was that that was his word.

He thought it was silly to be so upset over such a simple word, but that was Qrow’s trademark. Whether the genre was romance or drama, tragedy or slice of life, Qrow used that word only at the peak of the relationship between protagonists. He found himself cursing the fact that Clover had his books. Beloved was his word. It was his word for…what other words had Clover taken from him and used for someone he didn’t know?

Qrow quickly reorganized the letters and placed them back in their original drawer, before closing it and walking out of the room. He searched for the bathroom as quietly as possible, somewhere he could address his anxiety attack in secret, yet not be afraid of discovery in an off-limits location. Not that Clover had declared his study forbidden, but he didn’t think that the cheery man would take well to knowing that Qrow found the envelopes, even if Qrow hadn’t looked inside them.

He stepped into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the sink immediately. Qrow splashed water in his face, and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. He was able to compose himself, but he knew he was dangerously close to teetering back into chaos. He knew he was assuming too much at once, but it was hard to keep faith. Raven had tossed him aside and sidelined him enough for Tai and Summer to know that Clover wouldn’t be there when he needed him.

_He’s not Raven._

It didn’t matter.

_You’ve got a chance this time though._

How in the hell did he have a chance?

_Because you know, and he doesn’t know that._

The though crossed his mind, and Qrow stopped. It was true. Clover didn’t know about Qrow’s discovery. He would have time to prepare, to jettison safely, to minimize damage.

Or.

Or he could prove that Clover needed him as a friend. Even when Clover would get with his beloved, Qrow would prove just how valuable he could be. He could support Clover. After all, he’d more than earned Qrow's trust, his faith, and Qrow kept shortchanging him. But it was time to pay up, to pay in advance, to overpay.

He hoped it wasn’t someone at the university. If it was, Qrow would consider himself the unluckiest man on the earth. He’d dread having to watch his friend ignore him in favor of a different lunch time partner or skipping meetings just to go on walks around campus. He’d hate having to see flirtation in the halls, and heavens forbid Clover and his beloved flirt in his office, where Qrow could faintly hear them.

No, if it wasn’t someone who worked at the university, Qrow was safe. He could still have time with his friend. They could still discuss business and classes, and maybe a little personal chat on the side. Qrow didn’t care what it was, when it was, or how much it was. He would just want to make sure that Clover didn’t cast him aside like the others that came before him, not that he’d given any indication of being that kind of person.

Qrow gently slapped his cheeks a few times and grabbed one of the dry towels before wiping the rest of the water droplets off of his face. He stopped in front of the door, taking one last breath, and steeling his nerves. For the first time in a long time, Qrow wanted to try. His anxiety was welling up an inundation of emotions, but the one that stood above them all was determination. He wanted Clover to see just how reliable he was, just how responsible he was, and just how resilient he could be.

It didn’t matter if Clover was infatuated with someone else, he wouldn’t give up his friend without a fight.

Qrow walked out of the bathroom, and sought to resume his place on the couch, which had been occupied in his absence by a lump that seemed to shift positions. Qrow sat down on the free cushion beside Clover’s head, and gently rested a free hand on Clover’s shoulder, fingers subconsciously tracing shapes into his bare skin. He looked down at the sleeping man, who’s serene expression calmed any nerves that Qrow still had.

No, he’d been silly to think that Clover would just forget him. He could tell, no matter who held Clover’s heart in their hands, Qrow would still be able to keep the man as a friend. He wasn’t the kind to leave anyone behind. As Qrow sat looking down at the sleeping figure, his hand drifted upwards, dusting his Adam’s apple, and just barely brushing his chin. His fingers worked their way up, and his thumb grazed the corner of Clover’s lips, and memories of the morning resurfaced once more.

Qrow had had a fair number of hookups in his days, but none of them had been as good of a kisser as Clover. Sure, theirs was one of lust and haze and physical want in the early morning light, as was the rest of that morning, but Qrow allowed himself for a moment to wonder what it would feel like to be Clover’s beloved.

How would he kiss him? How would he touch him? How different would it be? Would it be overwhelming, or would he know just how much was enough? How long would it take for Clover to figure out the intricacies of his body? How long until he would be able to play him so wholly and completely? What did it feel like to be held by a lovestruck Clover? Was he firm, or was he soft? Was he impatient, or grounding? Would his hands roam, or would they be the force to pull him back to earth? Would Clover make them feel like the whole world, or would their intimacy be something smaller, something subtle, something sweet? Would he sneak touches when no one was looking, or would he declare his love proudly, without fear or hesitation?

Qrow’s hand finally found its way up to Clover’s hair, and he ran his fingers through it softly, ruffling it gently. The motion caused Clover’s eyes to flicker open briefly. He looked up at Qrow, beaming, before he inched his way closer, and placed his head on Qrow’s thigh as Qrow had done to him before. It was as if it were the most natural movement in the world, and Clover muttered something softly under his breath before closing his eyes once more, body curling closer towards Qrow.

Qrow wondered who he was thinking about…what he was thinking about. But for now, he just sat, content to mess with Clover’s hair and watch over the man who’d cared so diligently for him over the past couple of months. Qrow wondered again what it would feel like to be Clover’s beloved, but this time he felt guilty about the conclusions he drew.

_It must be nice._

_I’m jealous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here!! I want to just seriously thank you all for continuing to support the story. I promise to work to my best ability to deliver quality content, and to give our boys the happy end they deserve. I really love these two characters, and I've got a lot in store for you all over the next few chapters!
> 
> A quick shout out to those people sharing the story on tumblr and leaving comments/kudos here as well: thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, because you really do motivate me to work on this and you make me feel like my hard work is worth something! It may not seem like much, but every little comment, share, kudos, and the like help me know that you enjoy what I'm creating, or if something didn't sit quite right, it'll let me know if I need to work on anything! Seriously, I love you all!!
> 
> Come back next week as we wrap up the fall semester, in the final chapter before the study abroad!! You all better brace yourselves, because I'm going to hit you with some of the most loving and supportive (but still plot and narrative driven) content you've ever seen!!
> 
> You can reach me here or on my tumblr (http://smol--jelly.tumblr.com) where I post status updates and sneak peeks as I finish chapters, as well as post the link to new chapters once the story is updated. Please let me know what you think, and consider sharing with a friend! Thank you, thank you, thank you, and I'll be sure to keep working hard to make our boys have a good end!!
> 
> All my love,  
> Jelly♥


	7. Endless Days and Ephemeral Daze

Finals week meant that Qrow lost all of his normal hangouts. The local coffee shops during the day were all full up with students cramming and chugging caffeine at a catastrophic rate. The bars at night were bustling with frat brothers who got their butts busted by exams. The library was full to bursting with lethargic, lollygagging loiterers languishing over the lick they found themselves in, lamenting over lost time.

Which unfortunately meant that Qrow had been ostracized to his office, an ordeal in and of its own.

He remembered what it was like to be a student during finals week, studying day and night, sometimes for multiple days in a row without rest. While the stress wasn’t that bad as a professor, he wished that someone would have told him just how strenuous it was going to be. Every day during finals week, he was in his office from 8 A.M. to midnight, with exceptions being for meals, bathroom breaks, and the occasional wellness walk.

Qrow shared his availability with his students the day before finals started. His portfolios weren’t due until the next to last day of finals, but he’d be there to be able to give any feedback students needed. He also made it clear that he would not be accepting any extensions without a serious reason, but thankfully no students had asked so far.

Some did complain when he said that he wanted their portfolios in print, but there were several reasons for doing so. He liked being able to turn the page. Feeling his pen glide over the paper, jotting notes in the margins, physically marking up the written word was something he enjoyed doing. Also, there was something that instilled a sense of pride in students when they printed out their portfolios. Sure, seeing a page number on a word processor was an accomplishment to some, but to really see how much they wrote physically, Qrow had lost count of how many students told him they were surprised at their efforts.

Qrow also felt like he could work better and grade faster if the students brought him physical portfolios. He could keep stacks of them on his table and be able to gauge just how far he’d gotten, and just how much further he had left to go. Even through grades weren’t due until three days after finals, that was still an insane amount of work to be grading in only four days’ time. The physical portfolios kept him on track, kept him regimented, kept driving him to make progress. One year he’d tried doing digital, but he’d messed up his entire workflow, and ended up giving everyone an A just because he couldn’t finish the work in time.

When he arrived just before 8 A.M. on the first day of finals, he was surprised to find a student already waiting outside of Clover’s office. She looked in his direction, and an immediate look of displeasure crossed her face.

“Good morning, Weiss.”  
“Professor.”

“Don’t you have other finals to be studying for?” He said, leaning to one side and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I do, but Professor Ebi is offering feedback all week long on our final portfolios, so I wanted to speak with him as soon as possible,” she articulated through gritted teeth.

“And you want to be first in line,” Qrow sighed. “You know, maybe give the man a second to settle in before you jump him.”

“His email said 8 A.M. So, he should be ready at that time,” Weiss replied, crossing her arms. “He’s very punctual. Speaking of…”

She turned her head away from Qrow, and Qrow followed her gaze to see Clover striding up, navy blazer unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of his white button-up shirt. He was putting his glasses case back into his bag when he looked up at the two of them, offering a subtle smile.

“Good morning, you two.”

“He-”

“Good morning to you too, Professor. I hope you don’t mind…”

_Brat._

“…but I saw your email, and I needed your opinion on a few pieces before I finalize.”

Clover’s eyes flickered between Weiss and Qrow briefly, before he reached down into his pocket.

“Of course, Miss Schnee…one moment please.”

“Yes, one moment please,” Qrow spoke up. “I have to discuss something rather urgent with Professor Ebi.”

Both Clover and Weiss shot him looks, one of confusion, and one of pure annoyance respectively. Qrow quickly reached into his bag and pulled out a nondescript folder, holding it up in front of the two of them.

“You know what this is, Miss Schnee?”

“Not even remotely.”

“These are the class plans and the rubrics for the study abroad,” Qrow lied through his teeth, winking at Clover as discretely as possible. “I think there’s an error here, one that could seriously impact grades down the line.”

“Oh no!” Clover chimed in. “Can we hold a moment Miss Schnee? I promise this won’t take long, and you can take as much time as you wish when we’re done speaking.”

“Of course not,” Weiss curtseyed to Clover. “I wouldn’t want anyone’s academics suffering, for any reason.”

“Thank you, Miss Schnee.”

“Yes, thanks Weiss,” Qrow said, turning his back and opening up his own office door. As soon as Clover stepped inside, he shut the door behind him, and locked it to punctuate the fact that he’d just delayed Weiss’ one-on-one session with Clover even further. They both walked away from the door and sat down on either side of Qrow’s desk. He’d cleaned up some of the space so that he’d have room to grade and review student works, but not enough to actually declare the office clean, or to use any more than three of the seats in the room.

“So, what’s up?” Clover said, voice low with concern.

“Nothing,” Qrow smirked. “Just wanted to give you a second before little miss prissy pants jumps up in your business for the next ten years.”

Clover let out a deep sigh, as the corners of his mouth turned up in a slight smile.

“Thanks for that,” he chuckled. “I didn’t even have my morning coffee yet.”

“And you’re about to walk into a war zone with her,” Qrow observed. “Well, I don’t see anyone outside of my door yet, so tell me what you want, and I’ll go get it for you.”

“Qrow you can’t,” Clover replied. “The line’s too long, what if someone does come?”

“I’ll just order ahead,” Qrow shrugged. “So again, tell me what you want, and I’ll go get the drinks when they’re ready.”

“A peppermint mocha would be good right about now,” Clover requested.

“Sweet tooth?”

“I actually enjoy having flavoring in my morning coffee, unlike someone,” he said.

“Hey, black coffee has flavor!” Qrow laughed quietly.

“I would hardly classify dirt as a consumable flavor,” Clover said, rolling his eyes. He moved to stand back up, smiling at Qrow as he did so. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Wait a second.”

“Hm?”

“I told her we have a problem to fix,” Qrow said, hands folded in front of his face. He stuck up a finger and pointed it back at the seat which had just been occupied by Clover. “You don’t have to leave just yet.”

“No,” Clover chuckled. “I supposed I don’t.” He took his seat back, and for a moment, Qrow studied him like a hawk. His hair was back to its perfect shape, and his glasses didn’t have a single spot on them. Clover’s teal eyes seemed to be studying Qrow back, with a matching ferocity, it was intimidating, but Qrow wasn’t afraid to back down from a challenge. Clover’s clothes were neatly pressed, and Qrow could faintly smell that comforting cologne of his from his current position.

“So…” Qrow broke the silence. “What’s it like for you this week?”

“Oh, you know, here from 8 to 5 every day,” Clover answered him, eyes still wandering over the expanse that was Qrow Branwen. “You?”

“8 to midnight here,” Qrow replied.

“What?”

“Students might have nighttime exams,” Qrow explained. “They can study all day, take the test, and then come and get feedback if they want, since the pressure’s off.”

“Do students ever come that late?”

“Usually only on the day they have to submit their portfolios,” Qrow shrugged. “But some come in every now and then for last minute or late-night feedback.”

“You live across town,” Clover remarked.

“So?”

“Stay at my place.”

“One more time?”

“You heard me.”

“Uhh, no I didn’t. It sounded like you said you want me to stay over at your place,” Qrow laughed. “That’s a funny one. Nice joke.”

“I’m not laughing Qrow,” Clover started. “I’m serious, I live right next to campus. You can crash in…on my couch or something, and then come back in the morning if you insist on staying up that late.”

“I’ll…” Qrow paused. “I’ll think about it. But first, you deal with her, and I’ll bring you coffee.”

As the two of them stepped out of Qrow’s office, Weiss stared up at them expectantly. Qrow pat Clover on the shoulder, and squeezed slightly, as if to say good luck, before walking off without a word. He nodded at Weiss, because he figured any acknowledgement was better than ignoring her outright.

“Now then, Miss Schnee, what can I do for you?”

The line at the coffee shop was long, and there wasn’t a single open seat anywhere in the place, from what Qrow could see. There were too many students, and for once Qrow was thankful that he’d thought to order ahead. He got many pointed looks as he walked over to the mobile pick up spot and scooped up his two coffees. As he was walking back, he was thankful that he’d had the two coffees to keep his hands warm, though he’d wished he’d remember to bring a scarf.

In the twenty minutes he’d been gone on his coffee run, he’d now accumulated a small group of students outside his door, while Clover’s was still shut. No doubt he was still preoccupied with Weiss.

He asked the students to give him a moment to get settled, and to have their papers ready for him. Before unlocking his office, he opened up Clover’s door, earning a pointed look from Weiss and a smile of relief from Clover.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got your coffee,” Qrow explained.

Clover’s office was surprisingly similar to his. There was the standard desk, a few chairs, a couch, and wall to wall bookshelves. While Qrow’s bookshelves were disorganized, Clover’s looked reminiscent of his study. Not a single book lay scattered around the office, and not a single paper looked out of place. He had a few plants in here as well, though judging from the looks of them, these ones were fake. As Weiss turned back to Clover, determined to continue their conversation, Clover spoke up.

“I hope it wasn’t too crazy,” he said.

“Nah, I told you I’d order ahead,” Qrow replied. “But it was actually packed, so I would recommend staying away for now.”

“Thanks, Qrow,” Clover grinned. “I owe you one.”

“You keep this up and you’re going to owe me more than one.”

“Ahem?”

“Sorry, Miss Schnee, where were we?”

Weiss paid Qrow no mind, and she started up the conversation as though it hadn’t ever stopped to begin with. When she looked down at a paper with a specific poem on it, Clover mouthed a thank you to Qrow. He nodded and left the room with a hand wave before closing the door behind him.

“Alright…who’s first?”

* * *

As the week went on, Qrow could feel his stamina depleting. Every session he had was more taxing, every portfolio he graded weighed a little more on him, and these long days were absolute murder. But Qrow still wouldn’t adjust his schedule. He wanted to be available because he wanted his students to succeed.

But that still didn’t stop him from taking breaks.

Qrow kept showing up about half an hour before his scheduled start time, and each time he saw Weiss Schnee waiting outside Clover’s office. Sometimes she’d glance in his direction, he’d nod, and she would as well, not a word between them. He had to admire her dedication to perfecting her work, and if she was a good poet like Clover claimed, he could see why. He still wondered why she treated him so differently than everyone else. Towards Clover, she’d been open, and confident. She addressed him with respect, and she seemed to value his opinions greatly, yet she treated Qrow as if he were always inferior.

Qrow Branwen, award winning novelist, inferior to a university student poet.

Still, every morning during finals week, Clover would come in a quarter to 8, two cups of coffee in hand, and he’d close the door so he and Qrow could chat to ease into the day. Some days they actually had conversations, others, they sat in silence, drinking their coffee and laughing to themselves. Each morning session would conclude with Clover presenting the same offer to Qrow, and Qrow in turn responding with: “I’ll think about it.”

While Qrow believed that the students were his top priority, he enjoyed the breaks Clover provided for him. Qrow’s tendency to work through meals was broken up by Clover coming in to remind him that he needed to step outside, to drink water, to get some food, anything. Every day when Clover left his office at 5 P.M., he’d stop by Qrow’s and chat for a little bit, sometimes longer, until students showed up, putting an end to their idle chatter. They talked mostly of student portfolios, which were good, which had promise, and which…which needed more work. But sometimes they talked of other things, nothing of consequence, but things regardless.

Qrow couldn’t remember the details, but the details of the conversations weren’t important. What was important was Clover’s tone, his word choice, his feeling. Though he hid it most of the time, Clover sounded like he was a little exhausted from all of the work, and it’s not like the study abroad would be a vacation for him to recharge on. Sure, there was travelling, but there was still teaching, there was still grading, there was still classes. Clover wouldn’t be able to get the rest he needed, at least not for a while yet.

Similarly to their morning murmurs and their lunch time talks, their afternoon affirmations ended with Clover extending the invitation to Qrow. Each time, it seemed less like a casual offer, and more like one born from concern for Qrow, but each time it also seemed less and less hopeful. Each time, Qrow said he wouldn’t want to drop in on Clover like that, and that he didn’t want to impose. The story would be different though once Clover left his office.

He couldn’t help but stop and feel guilty. Clover was spending all of this energy on making sure whether or not Qrow was okay, but he felt hardly deserving of the attention. Time and again, Qrow wondered if Clover had extended invitations like this to his beloved. Would they walk over to Clover’s, a hot meal ready and waiting for them, with Clover making sure they were well taken care of? Would Clover still be working, or would he put everything aside just for those sweet nights? Qrow wondered if Clover would help him grade poems, in exchange for Qrow grading Clover’s students’ short stories.

He thought about waking up in Clover’s apartment, because his sure as hell wouldn’t be fitting for both of them. He wondered how many mornings Clover would still be in bed, waiting for Qrow to wake up, and how many mornings he would be ready with breakfast, fresh and excited for the day. Qrow’s mind wandered through the apartment, picturing Clover watering each of the plants, singing songs quietly to himself, and he’d set the watering can down in favor of picking Qrow up like he’d done so effortlessly before, and then they’d waltz around the furniture. He wanted to know if Clover could dance.

He wondered what it would be like, but he never dared to do anything more than wonder.

Wondering was okay.

Wanting wasn’t.

Wishing was a killer.

At the end of every rabbit hole, Qrow drew the same conclusion, without fail. Whoever that person was, they were lucky to have Clover.

Qrow found himself going down this rabbit hole a bit longer than usual after Clover left on the last day to turn in the portfolio. He was really tired, and he’d opted to skip their lunch time meeting in favor of waiting in his office for last minute portfolios. In particular, he was waiting for Blake, since he’d told her specifically to wait until the last day to turn it in, so she could refine her work as much as possible.

There were a few students who shambled in throughout the morning and midday, turning in portfolios and thanking him for instructing them for the semester. He’d wish them a good winter break and send them on their way. But as the day slowly passed, Qrow found himself sitting with idle hands and a wandering mind between portfolio gradings.

The rabbit holes were deeper than they had been before, and the images he was creating in his mind were more elaborate. Come 9 P.M., he found himself desperate for Blake to come in and rescue him from his own mind. He knew that he’d be able to break away from his thoughts long enough to review her work and pick her brain about the course. He wanted to do so, and then leave as soon as possible.

But where would he go? His week was over. His semester was over. He wanted to sleep for a thousand years, but he also felt like celebrating. The bars were too crowded, so maybe he could drink at home. He was pretty sure he had a bottle of wine somewhere…or did he? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually bought wine for his apartment. Oh well, he could always stop by somewhere on the way home, provided Blake showed up soon.

Then again, there was Clover’s invitation, one he’d turned down every day so far.

No, he wasn’t going to go there. There was a good chance that Clover would be asleep anyways, judging from the week he’d had.

Still, it would be nice to live that close to campus.

To have someone waiting for him.

To have…

“Professor Branwen?”

At a quarter past 9, Blake stepped in.

“Ah, Blake,” Qrow said clearing his throat. “Please, come in.”

“Sorry for being here so late,” she said. “Am I the last one?”  
“Yes, but that’s alright,” he replied. “I told you to come later so your work could be refined.”

“Thanks for that,” Blake nodded. “It really gave me time to hammer out some details instead of rushing.”

“Alright then,” Qrow smiled. “Let’s get to it.”

Since Blake’s portfolio had been the novella, Qrow had to come up with a slightly different way of judging her progress in the class, and how well she’d learned the material. They reviewed various parts of the final document together, and Blake explained how it had changed over various drafts and edits. She had several places marked in a preliminary draft, with comments scribbled in the margin by Qrow.

Honestly, it felt more as if she were defending a thesis instead of presenting a final portfolio, but it was the only thing Qrow could think of in order to make sure that she’d gotten the essentials out of the class. Once they finished their review, they talked about the course as a whole. Blake had obviously favored the prose lessons and exercises, but he was happy to see that she’d gotten some use out of the poetry lessons as well.

“I think they help me with pacing and description,” she explained.

“Oh? How’s that?” Qrow asked, leaning back in his seat. Blake raised a hand to the top of her head, tugging nervously on her bow. She looked down briefly, biting her upper lip as if she was forming the answer and revising it in real time.

“Well,” she started, “I actually found that the language and feel of poetry helped me describe things in a new perspective. Feelings, settings, actions, they feel like more in a poem than they do in prose.”

“I see,” Qrow agreed, rubbing his chin. “Poetry is difficult, Blake. People often underestimate it for its brevity and dismiss its intricacies as style choices, but it really is an art. I myself struggle with putting something so powerful into something so compact.”

“Really?”

“Definitely,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I admire anyone who can actually write poems. My brevity is snarky, not sophisticated.”

The two sat in silence for a moment longer, as Qrow contemplated Blake’s defense and explanation of her body of work. He’d read drafts of her novella before, a thrilling tale about crime with minor fantastical elements, but nothing too outlandish so as to buck the reader from their place during it’s short runtime. If her changes truly fell in line with what she’d described, it was sure to be a pleasing read. Qrow wasn’t sure if he wanted to put it at the top of his priority list for the remainder of the portfolios, or if he wanted to save something like Blake’s for last. Either way, he was proud to see how far she’d come since she stepped in the door to his classroom the first day of the semester.

Qrow sighed, closing the portfolio and removing it from the table. He placed it in his backpack, along with a few other portfolios he’d started but hadn’t been able to finish for various reasons. He scribbled something on a notepad, grimaced, and tossed the note before writing another in its place. Blake sat in silence, awaiting his verdict expectantly. When he finally looked up at her, he grinned.

“I think you made a fine portfolio, Blake,” Qrow said.

“Thanks Professor. I’m just glad I was able to do this,” Blake said. She stood up and picked up her bag, “I’m excited to take your class next semester, and I’m so ready for the study abroad!”

“I am as well,” Qrow smiled. “I think it’s going to be a good time.”

She nodded her head, and turned towards the door, but as she began walking out, a thought came to mind. He’d tried to ignore it before, but couldn’t do so any longer.

Qrow called out to her.

“Blake.”

“Yes sir?”

He had to know. He knew that Clover told him to let Blake come to him, but he had to ask, even if there was the slightest chance that he was overstepping his boundaries. Qrow wanted to make sure that she was alright. Ever since she submitted that poem, Qrow had worried about the girl. Whether it was just poetic ramblings or a deeper cry for help, he just had to know, and he wanted to be there for her if she did truly need help. He’d held off on telling Yang because he didn’t want to stress his niece out, especially before finals, but that just meant that he was sitting on a potentially serious situation. And he had to diffuse it.

“I’ve been wondering,” Qrow started, rubbing his hands together behind his back, an old nervous habit of his. “Did you ever come up with a name for the poem you submitted during my week out?”

“What poem?” Blake replied.

 _You can trust me, Blake_.

“You know, the draft you sent to me the week before Thanksgiving? The untitled poem?”

“I didn’t submit any poem that week,” she said, head tilting to the side. “Sorry Professor Branwen, but I think you might have me confused for someone else. I hope you find out though!”

“Damned around your finger? Ether overtakes completely? Doesn’t ring a bell?”

“No, but I wish it was me. If you find out, let me know!”

With that, Blake turned and walked out the door.

Qrow’s tired mind didn’t have the capacity to be off to the races. He wanted three simple things right now: food, shower, bed.

Food.

Shower.

Bed.

His body moved of its own accord as he left his office with his things. Finals were over, but before he could do any more grading, he needed rest. He needed to be able to unwind, if just for the evening before diving back into the thick of it to finish the portfolios on time. His senses were numbed, and his thought process was slowly shutting down. There were only three constants, three goals, three things piloting his body as the rest tuned everything else out.

Food.

Shower.

Bed.

He marched slowly, eyes recognizing shapes around him and in front of him, but only enough for him to move out of the way of anything in his immediate path. He heard the muffled sounds of students shouting as he rounded the corner. There was audible music and a lot of raucous laughter somewhere to his side. It was probably another bar chock full of students who were done for the semester. Every restaurant downtown would be closing any minute now, but the bars would be stuffed to capacity. Still, on he marched, following the mantra.

Food.

Shower.

Comfort.

Qrow couldn’t recall where the third item in the list had altered, but somewhere he decided that comfort sounded better. He’d be comfortable falling asleep on his couch more than his bed. Comfort seemed necessary to get him ready for the days of grading hell, so he allowed for the alteration of the list.

Food.

Shower.

Comfort.

He entered the doors to the apartment building, instinct still leading him onward. What would he order? Did he even have any food? Maybe he’d order pizza, or he’d walk to the convenience store on the corner. Maybe he’d just skip the meal altogether…no…wait…he needed to eat. Don’t strike that one yet. He was too tired to drink, but he could wait until he was done grading to do that. As Qrow stepped into the elevator doors and pressed the button, the mantra repeated, one item at a time as each floor passed.

Food.

Shower.

Comfort.

Eyelids heavy as he approached the door, Qrow reached into his pocket and fished out his keys. He looked at each key for a second, having a little difficulty figuring out which one was the key to the door, before he found the desired key and stuck it in the lock. He sighed, wiping the sleepiness from his eyes, he turned the key.

Or he tried to at least.

He tried turning it in the other direction, a mistake he’d made too many times to count.

But again, it was just an attempt.

No matter which way he turned, the key wouldn’t budge, and neither would the door. He placed a different key in the slot, trying again, and failing again. Had he really forgotten which key was his apartment key? Before he could try a fourth key, he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door, which swung open.

“Look pal, it’s getting late and…oh.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“This…this isn’t my apartment.”

“Nope, but you look exhausted,” Clover grinned at him. Qrow gave him a once over. Thick rim glasses, an army green tank top, dark grey pajama shorts, and two different knee socks. One was white with green clovers, and the other green with white clovers. Qrow looked at them suspiciously, but dismissed it, looking back up at Clover’s face. Taking the glasses off and hanging them from the neck of his tank top, Clover spoke up again. “Come in, Qrow.”

Qrow took a step forward before Clover threw his arm around Qrow’s shoulders and directed him into the apartment. Clearly still on autopilot, Clover helped Qrow remove his jacket, took his bag from him, and gently removed the knit cap from the top of his head. He kicked off his shoes, before Clover picked them up to put them on a neatly organized shoe rack right in the entryway. Clover was saying something, but Qrow couldn’t make it out, still in a daze as he stared around at the apartment once more.

Clover was too busy finding a hanger and other things to store Qrow’s clothes in the entryway closet, and Qrow followed his motions with tired eyes. He never realized just how expressive Clover was when he spoke. It could be attributed to the tiredness that he was also experiencing, but Clover’s speech seemed to be coming from all over his body. His hands forming the clay that was his words just as well as his mouth, and his ministrations accentuating every inflection.

“So, take your pick,” Clover said, stopping in front of Qrow.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah…uh…well…no…” Qrow said rubbing the back of his neck. The larger man looked at him for a second, warmth in his eyes, and a grin forming at the corners of his mouth, before he placed a hand on Qrow’s shoulder, and directed him farther into the apartment. With deft ease, Clover led Qrow around to a small dining area, a placemat waiting for him. Clover explained once more that he’d had dinner already, but he could heat something up for Qrow if he wanted, he need only ask.

“Food.”

“Uh oh, we’re slowly headed back to Mr. Three Word, aren’t we?”

The two of them chuckled quietly, and Qrow put his weary head in his hands.

“You don’t have to get me anything,” Qrow said. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”  
“You’re right, I don’t,” Clover said nonchalantly. “But I want to, so you sit here, and I’ll heat up some of my leftovers.”

Qrow could hear idle chatter from the kitchen, but he didn’t much feel like keeping up with conversation at the moment. Instead, he sat back, and tried to relax as he looked around the apartment again. He still couldn’t believe Clover had the time to take care of all of these plants, and he could have sworn that he saw even more today than he did last time. If the aromas lingering left any indication to Qrow, he had a feeling that the food would be amazing as always.

He had food on the way.

Food…Now what were the other two?

“I’m out of rice right now for the lettuce cups, so I’m going to have to make a fresh pot real quick. Do you want to shower or anything while I do?”

Ah. Shower.

“Could I?”

“Sure,” Clover said. “There’s extra towels in the bathroom already, I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

Qrow nodded, before standing up and moving to the bathroom. He peeled off his clothes, bit by bit, leaving his boxer briefs on. He looked under the bathroom sink, and grabbed one of the spare towels, placing it still folded on the counter. The bathroom itself was pretty small, but spacious enough for one person to comfortably move around. He’d be able to reach the counter of the sink from the shower easily without splashing water everywhere. He kicked off his underwear, and stepped in, turning on the shower with surprising ease. Qrow was thankful that it was a simple system, since he always had trouble with strangers’ showers. They never worked like his, and they were never intuitive either.

Within seconds, the hot spray cascaded out of the showerhead, and started racing down Qrow’s bare skin. He stood for a few minutes, just zoning out underneath the constant sensation of the shower, one that actually had decent water pressure, unlike his own. He looked to his left and spotted an assortment of bottles. Some looked to be for skin care, others for actual washing. After reading a few of them, he picked up the one labeled shampoo, which still had some weight to it, signifying how new the bottle was. He squirted a dab of it into his hand, and started applying it, before the faint, familiar scent of lavender hit him.

He began to relax more and more, washing away the stress of the week, and maybe a little bit of office grime from his prolonged time sitting in the same, closed space. After about ten minutes total, Qrow shut off the water, and wicked some of it away from his eyes and face. He stuck an arm out from behind the shower curtain and grabbed the towel, pulling it back into the basin before he started patting himself down. After he dried his feet sufficiently enough to not track water, he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower.

“Hey Qrow, here’s…oh…s…sorry,” Clover said, raising a hand in front of his eyes after he’d opened the door absentmindedly. The other hand was extended in Qrow’s direction, holding a few items of clothing. There was a grey sweatshirt, a pair of army green pajama bottoms, and some boxer briefs. Needless to say, everything looked much too big to be worn by Qrow, but he still accepted them graciously. “I uh…I thought you were still showering…”

“All good,” Qrow shrugged. “Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me like this before.”

“Uh…yeah, but…you know, privacy and all that,” he sputtered out. Clover quickly turned his back to Qrow as soon as the clothes had been taken from his hand. His head turned slightly, as if to make himself better heard, without actually looking at a towel clad Qrow. “Take your time, your food is on the table. I’m going to go clean my study.”

The study.

The books.

The letters.

Maybe he could…

Qrow changed into the clothes as quickly as he could, noting how tightly he had to tie the bottoms just to keep them up. He’d opted to go without the boxer briefs, because there’s no way those would be able to fit comfortably without bunching up at all. The hoodie was spacious, just the way he enjoyed it, and when he took a deep breath in, all he smelled was Clover. He smelled the words on every page of poetry he’d written, the faint sweat on his brow from a hard-worked day, the distant smokiness of his cologne. It was Clover through and through.

Qrow held part of it up to his nose and took another breath, relaxing further as his senses became overwhelmed by Clover’s essence. Moments later, Qrow remembered his original goal, and hurried out of the bathroom. He held his ear up to the door and heard frantic, but quiet rustling and shuffling from within. Without knocking, Qrow opened the door to the study, earning a swear from Clover.

“Fuck! You startled me!”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, it’s okay…I just…it was a little untidy from all of the grading,” Clover said, hands behind his back. “Does…does everything fit alright?”  
“It’s big, but it’s good enough. Thank you,” Qrow replied. “So, this is your study…”

“Yup,” Clover smiled. “My personal library and workspace. You’re welcome to borrow anything that suits your fancy. Poetry is the left two shelves, then we have fiction, and so on and so forth.”

Qrow already knew, but he stepped up again to the bookshelves to look through the work. The poetry books looked as though they’d been pulled recently, either for reference or to be rearranged. Qrow picked up one of Clover’s books, and flipped through it, hearing a small chuckle behind him, before he replaced the book on the shelf. He stepped to the next few shelves, but something was different.

His books were gone.

They weren’t in their place at the top of the shelf.

Instead, there were just a few random picture frames.

The one thing out of place in the otherwise catalogue apartment.

So where were his books? Did Clover not want Qrow to know that he’d read his works? Qrow’s mind started to race, but as it did so, he heard a drawer open behind him. That was followed by the slipping of papers on one another, and the drawer sliding shut, but no actual sound of it closing. A frown came to Qrow’s face immediately, but upon further reflection, he chuckled to himself. Clover still had no idea that he’d seen the study before. He could surely tease him a bit.

Qrow continued to walk wordlessly from shelf to shelf, earning some nervous laughter from Clover as he placed more insincere scrutiny on the shelves. By the time he reached the end, Clover’s hands were in front of him, and he was wringing them together. His face still held a smile, but it faltered slightly, for reasons unknown to Qrow. Still, he might as well have a little fun.

“You know…I’m hurt, Clover,” he began. “All of these books, and you don’t have a single one by me here…you must think me a terrible writer…”

Qrow fought the urge to laugh as Clover’s eyebrows shot up and he raised a hand to the back of his head.

“I, uh, I think I have a few somewhere,” Clover said. “I…oh yeah. I lent one to a friend the other day. He was looking for recommendations.”

“One? Only one of my books? Please tell me that you at least have a good one.”

“It was _Harbinger_.”

“I’m rather fond of that one.”

“Me too,” Clover said. “I’ll uh…I’ll make sure to catch the next one, since you find my collection lacking.”

“I can bring you copies of any ones you want,” Qrow replied, hand on a hip and a smirk on his face. He glanced to the corner of the desk, and saw the drawer he recognized as the Beloved’s drawer still slightly open, before Clover promptly hip checked the drawer shut. “You know, you really shouldn’t treat your furniture so roughly.”

“It’s sturdy enough.”

“Alright then,” Qrow snickered. “Impressive study aside for a moment, where’s the food? I’m starving.”

Dinner was chicken lettuce cups with jasmine rice, and just as he’d proven in the past, Clover once again showed his prowess in the kitchen. Even if it was just leftovers, Qrow devoured the delicious meal. He stopped a few times to discuss random portfolios with Clover. He asked about his progress, if there were any new standouts, and which is favorite was so far. Clover asked the same questions in turn, and for a moment, the conversation with Blake flashed in his mind, but Qrow couldn’t latch onto anything from it.

After the plate was finished, Clover offered Qrow a place on his couch for the night.

“You look about ready to fall asleep on your feet.”  
“Done it before, don’t recommend it.”

The two said their good nights after Clover set out a place for him to sleep. Qrow went to the bathroom after Clover retired to his own room, to brush his teeth with the spare toothbrush Clover told him about. As dreamland threatened again to overtake him, Qrow thought back to his mantra.

Food.

Shower.

What?

He had two of three, and autopilot had led him this far, with the assistance of Clover. He shambled out of the bathroom and down the hall, before opening the door slowly. The lights were already off, but there was a faint glow from the television cast throughout the familiar bedroom. Clover was propped up on both of his elbows, tank top long since discarded on the floor next to the bed, and he stared wide-eyed at Qrow.

Qrow ignored his staring and proceeded to remove the sweatshirt he was wearing. He kept the pajama bottoms, and shuffled progressively over towards the bed, senses threatening to fade to black at a moment’s notice. Clover said nothing, he only stared. There was no rejection, no outcry, nothing. If anything, there was a bit of concern, or perhaps that was bewilderment on Clover’s face. Qrow couldn’t tell.

When he pulled back the covers on the empty side of the bed, he caught a glimpse of Clover’s lower half under the covers. He was still wearing boxer briefs, but he’d discarded his pajama bottoms. Qrow sat on the edge of the bed, swung his feet up under the covers, and pulled them up over his own sleepy form.

“Qrow…”

Qrow followed the sound of his name, and quickly found himself bumping up against Clover beneath the covers. He threw one leg over Clover’s, and did the same with a hand, as he moved to snuggle the side of his body. He could feel Clover tense up slightly, but still he forged on. Bare skin underneath his fingertips.

Qrow’s head came to rest on Clover’s chest, as he tried to stare at what was on the television. The miniscule voices coming from the television pushing Qrow over the edge as he finally closed his eyes and allowed himself the guilty prize he’d claimed. Surely, he wasn’t the Beloved from the letters. He didn’t deserve to have someone like Clover in his life, but he wanted it with his entirety.

He didn’t wonder.

He wanted.

He wished.

He wanted someone like Clover in his life, since Clover wouldn’t ever think about him.

Qrow smiled as he felt the rise and fall in Clover’s chest, as a hand hesitantly place itself on the small of Qrow’s back, pulling him closer. This was something that he’d want to have if he ever found himself someone like Clover. He wanted to be able to come home, to be taken care of. He wanted someone who would help him out and make food, or perhaps one day they’d make food together. Qrow triple underlined the note to ask about rent after that godly shower, which was leagues better than his own. He could see how someone could sleep easily at night with such a luxurious living space.

But most importantly, he wanted someone like Clover who could make him feel this comfortable at the end of a stressful week. He wanted to be able to relax and melt so completely into someone, and someone who would let him in return.

Food.

Shower.

Comfort.

Qrow’s consciousness started to slip as the list repeated.

Shower.

Comfort.

By the last pass, the list had condensed itself to a single point. A single word. A single thought that carried Qrow into his dreams.

_Clover._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here!! Thanks again for reading my newest chapter!!! We're getting up to the study abroad territory now! I'll admit...I didn't plan for it to be this way...but I suppose that the universe wanted me to post on Valentines Day, so I will do just that!!
> 
> The plot thickens, and with some extended time in atlas coming up over the next few chapters...you know what they say: nothing makes two people grow closer than travel!
> 
> I want to thank you all for taking the time to read my story! Seriously, I don't deserve you all, but your support, interactions, and everything really make it all worth while to work on this! Whenever you all comment, like, leave kudos, and reblog my story, it seriously energizes me so that I can create what I believe to be something special...and trust me...the Valentine's Day update WILL be a special gift from me to you...so I hope you're all ready for it!!!
> 
> As always, you can follow or reach me on my Tumblr: https://smol--jelly.tumblr.com
> 
> I post status updates and links to new chapters, and sneak peeks when chapters are completed (before they're edited). I hope you all have a lovely weekend!
> 
> Love,  
> Jelly ♥


	8. Crowded Places and Solitary Spaces

Qrow had nearly forgotten what it was like to lead the study abroad. The organizing was already done, and the lessons were all planned. There were a few informational sessions as the study abroad drew closer, but they wouldn’t really get a sense of the group they were going with until the flight to Atlas. Several things were bound to happen on every study abroad he’d piloted.

The first would be homesickness. Even though most students had some degree of separation from their homes for school, others who lived in Beacon all of their lives tended to adjust poorly to the first week in Atlas. After they calmed down and came to terms with their homesickness, most of them were able to enjoy the rest of the trip, uninhibited. Luckily, he never had to really deal with the homesick students, as others would try to help their comrade in travel.

The second would be winter semester flings. Sure, travel tended to bring people closer together, but it usually brought some of the students too close together. If you knew where to look, you could spot the would-be couples from a mile away. But since the trip was brief, these quick winter relationships also tended to affect the group from time to time, if anything happened and drama ensued. Qrow hoped that there wouldn’t be too many “travel couples” this year, but it couldn’t be helped.

Third, students tended to forget the original purpose of their trip from time to time. Sure, this was a great opportunity to explore Atlas and to hone craft during the winter break, but so many students would fall into the trap of pretending that this was a vacation. Far from it. If Qrow knew Clover, he knew the man would be strict on grading the study abroad, with no quarter given. After all, they were still paying for a class.

The final thing was what always troubled Qrow the most, and tended to be a killer for the trip, as it seemed to cause troubles with all of the other items as well. Year after year after year Qrow could trace bad grades and trip drama to the same root, and it was a root that he so hypocritically lectured students about. However, he could usually gauge how crazy this last thing would make the group on the initial flight, so he could prepare in advance. Four words, two things. That was all it took to estimate how much the group would be affected. Just four small words.

International airspace.

Legal drinking.

The flight itself to Atlas was a long enough one to have two full meal services, as well as multiple beverage services. When he used to lead, he would sit in the back of the plane with the students. Watching them go off the rails when some of them had their first legal drinks in an airplane was always Qrow’s warning sign. He remembered a student one year who got drunk on the plane for the first time, and he kept walking up and down the aisle, babbling about how he was really walking around 400 miles per hour because of the flight speed. Later on, that student would have one of the worst hangovers he’d ever seen on the trip.

Qrow was surprised though this time to not be sitting back with the students. Apparently, Clover had expensed them both first class tickets, so they had their own reclining chairs and private service away from the rest of the students. Their drinks, if he wanted any, were free, as were their snacks. The legroom was worth it alone, and the in-seat television had a massive selection of movies and shows to eat up time.

Clover sat across the aisle from Qrow, the openings of their privacy walls facing one another. A few times during the flight, Qrow glanced over towards Clover, whose head would dart in the other direction. Conversely, Qrow found himself averting his gaze any time Clover caught him looking. If this was going to be the whole trip, he wasn’t sure he could last. Ever since Qrow left the morning after he invaded Clover’s apartment, the two had hardly spoken. Only a text message here or there confirming rendezvous times for the flights, but other than that, nothing. Even during their wait at the airport, Qrow made himself busy by pretending to read while Clover listened to something in the seat next to him. Clover seemed more than comfortable with the silence, but to Qrow it was beginning to become maddening.

Every little glance, every time their eyes met, and subsequently darted in opposite directions, Qrow could feel his pulse quicken. Maybe it was admiration for his civility, or maybe it was a respect for his work that made Qrow become more and more conscious of Clover over the recent months. That had to be it. It was nothing more than respectful admiration of a colleague. Nothing more. Qrow refused to believe that he traded red-tinted glasses for…no. He just had to do something that would appropriately express his appreciation, and then he could be over and done with the whole damn thing.

After the first few hours of the flight, Clover was out like a light, seat fully reclined and blankets drawn up over his imposing frame. Qrow thought about going back to check on the students more than once, just to see if his time-honored gauge was still appropriate, but he fought against his instincts and tried to just enjoy the flight. He hardly ever travelled, but when he did, he never bothered to spring for first class, so this was a rare opportunity for him.

He looked over at Clover once more, and an idea came to his mind. He stood up carefully, and peered over Clover’s slumbering form, checking to make sure his flight companion was asleep. Once he confirmed it, Qrow sat back down in his own seat before he closed his own privacy screen. Reaching down, Qrow unzipped his backpack and pulled out a few things before setting to work.

On a scrap piece of paper, he wrote the first draft. He faltered a few times, the pressure of his task mounting with each hesitation and each line he penned. After finishing the first, he reviewed it with a learned scrutiny. He focused intensely and tried to polish as much as he could, but eventually he decided the draft was no good, and scrapped it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply before pulling out another piece of paper from his backpack.

This process repeated a few times.

Write. Review. Scrap.

He really wasn’t good at this sort of thing. This wasn’t his element at all. He should just stick with what he knows. Qrow’s nerves built up more and more with each consecutive pass at his task, and the doubt starting to creep in from the edges of his mind.

Write. Review. Scrap.

What would he say? What would he think about this? Maybe the first draft was better than the subsequent ones? No, all of them were pretty terrible. Qrow was quickly falling down a rabbit hole, and his anxiety started to get the better of him. After his fifth attempt at creation, he decided to give up for the time being.

Why hadn’t he tried to do this sooner? He would have had ample time sooner, but now the holidays were close at hand, and Qrow was desperate. This would be perfect. Or, it could have been perfect, had Qrow had a modicum of talent for this sort of thing. But as usual, he decided to wait until near the last minute. There was no way he’d be able to do it. He crumpled the last piece of scrap paper and stuffed it in his backpack.

The ride from the airport to the hotel wasn’t very long. The students seemed excited to take in each of the sights as they passed. From the clothing to the architecture, the streets to the street signs, everything seemed different. Everything seemed shinier. Everything seemed brighter in the snow-coated Atlas. There was a lot of excited chatter as they pulled up to their hotel, a major high rise in the heart of the historical district, which was coincidentally near the downtown scene as well.

The lobby of the hotel looked like something out of a movie.

Elegant columns, a marble fountain, beautiful paintings, and a rich, dark wood front desk added an air of grace to the welcoming area. There were various seating areas around the massive room, but all seemed to be occupied by groups of people chatting and sharing drinks. The staff were all wearing pristine uniforms, as if they’d just been freshly sewn and pressed the second they’d stepped behind the desk. Not a single thing looked out of place in the joint.

An operatic song filled the lobby air, playing through speakers that Qrow couldn’t locate. A few of the students recognized the voice as Weiss Schnee’s, but that just made Qrow wish that another song would be played in its stead.

_Wait._

_Weiss._

_Maybe she could…_

Checking into the hotel, they were given 16 room keys for the 30 students. Clover instructed the students to pair up with someone, and pair by pair they came up to retrieve their room keys. There was a lot of laughter as keys were traded for other keys, and students kept shuffling groups right in front of two professors. Blake was among the last of the students to get her key. She scribbled her name and Neptune Vasilias next to her on the roommate chart that Qrow gave her, and he frowned. Since Yang was staying with Ruby and Weiss, Qrow lowered his voice when Blake picked up her key. “Are you sure you’re fine to room with Mr. Vasilias?”

“I’m fine, Professor,” she smiled back. “Besides, his boyfriend is surprising him tomorrow morning, so I doubt he’ll be a bother. It’s probably better that I’m here in case he gets sad tonight about being away for the holidays.”

Qrow nodded to her, and Clover spoke up loudly.

“Alright everyone,” he began, “since it’s already the early evening, no class today. You have a free night, but please remember that we start tomorrow morning at 9 A.M. sharp, down here in the lobby.”

Several of the students, and Qrow, groaned at the early start time. Getting up in the morning was never an easy task the day after a flight. He would have preferred to wait until noon to start, but he forgot about Clover’s inclination towards earlier classes. With a wave, the students scattered. Some of them went back to the bus to pick up extra things they’d left behind, while others made for the elevators.

Clover pocketed the last room key, shooting Qrow a look that told him to follow. The two of them stepped into the elevator wordlessly and rode all the way up to the twenty-fourth floor, two below the top of the hotel. As the doors slid open silently, the sterile walls and ornate carpet welcomed them to the hallways of their home for the next few weeks. They followed the map outside the elevator, and eventually reached their room, a corner suite.

Clover swiped the room key, and the door unlocked.

Suddenly the lobby didn’t seem so impressive. The entryway had the typical closet and storage space, but then it opened up into a large, decadent room. There were various paintings hanging above the beds, and Qrow could swear that the trimming on the room was either gold or gold painted. There were two large beds with more pillows than Qrow cared to count, and a television mounted on one wall off to the side of the beds. That was when Qrow realized that the two walls of their corner suite that faced the outside of the hotel were floor to ceiling windows, and they had an unobstructed view of the city, and a park that was just below. The park seemed to be bustling with life, even amidst the current flurry, though the creek seemed to be iced over and the trees absolutely coated in white powder. Looking out over the city, Qrow’s jaw dropped while he took in the view.

“This is amazing.”

“I know the owner of the hotel.”

“Of course you do.”

“The shower has four shower heads.”

“You’re joking me.”

“Go look.”

True to his word, the bathroom was just as decked out as the rest of the room. The shower had four heads, and the bathtub looked more like a jacuzzi. The floor and walls both had marble tiling, and there was a small television sitting across from the bathtub for easy viewing. The vanity was also complete with multiple drawers, and a seat of its own for ease of use. The double sinks really made the bathroom feel complete though, and as Qrow walked out and flopped down on one of the beds, he felt himself sink into the soft mattress and sheets.

“Oh my god, I bet the sheets are actually clean,” Qrow sighed as he buried his face in them.

“I’ve never had a problem with them before,” Clover laughed.

“Wake me up when it’s time to teach.”

* * *

Contrary to his expectations, everyone seemed to be ready to go at 9 A.M.

As the students wandered over to the meeting place in the lobby from the breakfast area, Clover marked their attendance. They all had the required notebooks, pens, and any other scholarly supplies at the ready. Rather than have a fully regimented travel or class schedule, the study abroad was a little more free form. Both professors had different strengths and weaknesses, and both had different ideas as to how to approach the course. In the end, they settled on a time-honored system.

“Alright, for poetry, come with me,” Clover said.

“And for more prose practice, I’m your professor,” Qrow offered.

The students looked at each other, and there was some chatter here and there before they started making their way towards either professor. Qrow had been a little nervous about the free choice given to the students instead of a simple rotation, due to the fact that he was worried no one would choose him at all.

Instead, he smiled as there seemed to be a roughly even split amongst the students. He nodded as he saw Blake make her way over to Professor Ebi. She could definitely use the poetry practice, so he was happy to see her broadening her horizons. He couldn’t wait to see what kind of lessons Clover would impart on her that would change her writing before she came back to Qrow for the spring semester and his capstone class.

He watched as two of his students, Jaune and Nora, also made their way over towards Professor Ebi, and he snickered at the thought of watching him have to deal with the comedic duo. Though knowing him, he could probably play it off in spectacular fashion. Heck, he wouldn’t be surprised if by the end of the day, Jaune and Nora had a plethora of new inside jokes with Clover.

He looked at his own group of students, which was made up of a few from his classes this semester, such as Velvet and Ren. He recognized one girl who he’d seen from time to time standing outside his class, and who he could have sworn was named Pyrrha. He marked off student after student, asking for names he didn’t know as he went through. He knew that he’d introduced himself to the students before, but he wanted to make sure not to miss any of them. He didn’t want to run the risk of losing a student abroad. Never mind the students’ parents, Glynda would kill him personally. No, as he looked through the crowd in front of him, he seemed excited and ready to go. With students like Velvet and Weiss and Ren, he was sure they’d enjoy his lesson.

Wait.

What?

Standing in the middle of his group of students was Weiss. He nodded at her, and she nodded back, before averting her eyes. He could have sworn that she’d go over to Clover’s group, so why would she possibly go with Qrow? She was a talented poet, even his colleagues raved about her potential, so why would she waste this chance to study in a more focused group with Clover?

With their students all accounted for, Clover’s group departed first.

“Alright I guess,” Qrow sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Before we begin, how many of you consider yourselves prose writers?”  
Half the group.

“Okay, and how many of you are comfortable with dialogue?”

Half of that group.

“I see,” he grumbled. “Well, we’re going to do some sightseeing, so please try to keep up.”

“How is sightseeing supposed to help with dialogue?” Weiss’ hand shot up.

“Because I didn’t say what the sights were, Miss Schnee.”

The group left the hotel and started making their way towards the shopping districts. Massive storefronts lined the street, all perfectly done up and presented. Interspersed between some of the storefronts were small cafes and restaurants. There were a few novelty shops as well, but the street was packed with people. The metropolitan Atlas was hustling and bustling with passersby.

A few of the students stopped to ogle the different clothes and accessories on display just behind glass so perfectly polished you could swear it wasn’t there at all. The various scents from the cafés and restaurants made some students swoon, ready for a second breakfast, or at least some coffee. In the middle of the district, Qrow turned to his students.

“What do you see?”

“Clothes!”

“Food!”

“Too many shoppers!”

“Yes, but what else?” Qrow asked. “What is this street absolutely teeming with?”

“Life?”

“Yes! And what is life?”

“A story.”

“Exactly, Miss Schnee, exactly,” Qrow smiled, and for once he got what he thought was a genuine smile from the student. “What I want you to do is go wild. I want you to shop for clothes and souvenirs. I want you to drink the fancy coffees and eat the fresh baked treats.” Qrow started making grand gestures at all of the storefronts. Some of the students tilted their heads, and others’ eyes seemed to light up at his words. Some students excitedly whispered to one another, and he started to speak up again. “But I want you to listen. I want you to keep a beat on your surroundings. People watch. Experience. I want you to listen to the conversations people are having, and I want you to create.”

“But what are we listening for?” the Pyrrha girl asked. “Anything specifically?”

“Nothing at all,” Qrow shrugged, “but everything comes from nothing. I want you to each write dialogue to mirror the conversations you hear today. I won’t be able to tell if you’re copying someone’s word for word, but I want to believe your characters exist. I want to watch them speak to one another in front of my face, and you can only write authentic dialogue if you listen to authentic dialogue.”

“And how does the shopping help?” Ren asked this time, a confused look on his face.

“Different conversations happen in different surroundings,” Qrow replied. “Make sure to take a picture of your chosen store, so I can step into the scene when I read your finished product. Be back here by noon.”

With a wave, the different students scattered, some went on their own, whereas others went in pairs. Qrow smiled as he watched them disperse, homing in on different possible locations and different possible scenes. He wondered just what the assignment would yield, but he didn’t get much time to think before he heard the young woman in front of him clear her throat.

“Yes, Miss Schnee?”

“I should like you to accompany me to the coffee shop around the corner,” she stated.

“Any particular reason?”

“Yes,” she said.

He sighed.

“Care to elaborate?”

“No,” she replied once more.

“Alright, if you think it will help,” he surrendered, and he followed her as she turned on her heel and led him. She weaved through the crowd of people, determined to reach her destination in the shortest time possible, while Qrow managed to bump into several people who spotted her and turned to watch her go. He remembered hearing her in the hotel, and he remembered learning that she was something of a name around Atlas, but he didn’t think he’d have to deal with her fans on the street.

The storefront they stopped at was that of a small café, the windows were ginormous, but Qrow didn’t bother looking through them quite yet. As he looked up to read the name, he was pulled roughly by the wrist through the door.

The inside of the café reminded him of Clover.

There were plants absolutely everywhere, even in the dead of winter.

There were planter boxes between booths, hanging pots every few feet, more planters lined the ceilings. He recognized the English Ivies that lined the ceiling boxes, and the small succulents on every table. There was also a various assortment of flowers around the counter. Leaning up against a separating wall from the entryway and the main seating area was a baby grand piano, with someone sitting at the keys tickling the ivories in a calming way. One wall of the café was lined with bookshelves stuffed to the brim with literature of all types, and a sign that said: “For enjoyment during your stay!”

They walked right up to the vacant counter, and Weiss rang the bell twice, paused for a moment, and then once more a second later.

“Hello, ma’am,” Weiss called, curtseying as she did so. “I’m back! I’m glad to see your shop hasn’t changed at all!”

“My dear Weiss, is that you? Goodness, girl, it’s so good to have you here again!” an older woman called from out of view. “How are the classes?”

“They’re wonderful, actually in one right now,” she replied. “Can I have two of my usual? I have a guest with me.”

“Of course, dear, anything for you!”

“What is this place?” Qrow asked, looking around. Most of the tables were full up already as Weiss led Qrow to one of the tables in the corner. A few heads turned and nodded before returning to their own business. Some of them were buried in books, and others were slowly enjoying or snapping pictures of their drinks and food. Each table had something different, a different arrangement of flora, a different meal or drink, a different demographic of clientele, everything. Whoever ran the shop had to be proud of their place.

“It’s a café now. Or well, it’s a book place, boulangerie, beverage shop, and a bunch of other things now too I suppose. It’s changed a lot since I was a child,” she explained. He stared at Weiss as she pulled out her notebook from her bag, and she opened to a page. “The owner of this place would let me stay past closing, and she’d always give me treats I could sneak home for my brother and sister.”

“That’s awfully nice of her,” Qrow smiled.

“It is,” she agreed, scribbling as she did so. “Sorry, just setting the scene.”

“You know, Professor Ebi says you’re a talented poet,” Qrow offered, trying to be a sincere as possible.

“He’s just modest,” she replied without looking up. “Try as I might, I can’t come close to his poetry. He’s been an idol of mine since I found his work in this shop actually.”

“Oh really?”

“Yup. His work is over there on the shelf,” she nodded her head in the direction of the towering bookcases. “The owner recommended it to me. I’m sure it’s still there.”

“That’s nice, he’s worked hard,” Qrow offered. “He deserves a spot on the shelf of a place like this.”

“You’re over there too,” Weiss said flatly as she stopped writing and stared directly at Qrow. “I’m pretty sure I’ve read every book over there at least twice by now, and yours are…something.”

“Does that mean you enjoy my work?”

“I admit nothing,” Weiss replied plainly. “Though I figured you should see this place. I apologize for the bossiness.”

“It’s alright, Miss Schnee, I’m glad you showed me,” Qrow said. “I rather like it here.”

Silence fell between them once more as Weiss went back to writing. He tried to look at her handwriting a few times, which she noticed and immediately covered with her hand. She said she didn’t like people looking over her shoulder as she worked, and Qrow simply sat back in his seat. He looked around and admired the décor of the place, as well as the crowd it seemed to have drawn. Feeling the spark of inspiration after a minute or two of looking around, Qrow reached for his own notepad, but Weiss stopped him immediately.

“Something tells me you’re going to want to just pay attention for a moment, our food is here,” she instructed. Qrow heard someone approaching, and he looked up at the server as she stopped at the side of the table.

An older woman smiled at the two of them. She had a kind face and greying brown hair that had been tied up into a bun. She wore an apron that appeared to be splattered here and there with batter and frosting, no doubt a result of her hard work of the morning. In her hand, she held a tray which had two identical pieces of strawberry shortcake, and two lattes with different drawings in the foam of two different snowflakes.

“My goodness, you’re still just as adorable as the day I met you, little miss singer!”

“Ma’am, you’re embarrassing me!” Weiss smiled, laughing as the woman placed one of the slices of cake and one latte in front of her. She turned towards Qrow and handed him his servings. He looked up at her and found himself staring directly into a pair of familiar teal eyes.

“So who’s your friend here?” she asked politely.

“He’s one of your son’s friends,” Weiss said. “This is Professor Qrow Branwen. Qrow, this is Clover’s mother, Daisy Ebi.”

Qrow stared wide-eyed at Weiss, before turning to look at Mrs. Ebi. He held up his hand in a half wave, and her face relaxed.

“My my, Mr. Branwen, I feel as though I already know so much about you,” she was beaming. She held out both of her arms, as if asking for a hug, so he stood up and obliged her. She was a smaller woman, but she exuded a warmth and a familiarity that he knew all too well. “I’ve read all of your books at my son’s behest. It’s so good to finally meet you in person.”

“He’s talked about me?”

“My dear, for the longest time, you were all he talked about,” she laughed. “He’s such a fan of your work. In fact, your work is what inspired him to start the collection you see on the wall!”

“Those are all his?” Qrow asked, head tilting to the side.

“Those are all of his favorite books,” Daisy explained. “I only add books that he sends to me, and of course I add his, despite his wishes for me to not do so.”

“I’m honored,” he replied, bowing his head deeply.

“Speaking of which, where is my son? You were leading that trip with him, weren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Qrow said. “He’s currently giving the poetry students an assignment. I’m sure he’ll come by.”

“Hmmm…I’ll have to give him a talking to,” she shook her head. “Mr. Branwen…could you do this old woman a kindness?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Don’t tell Clover you came here,” she said slyly. “It’ll be our secret. You too now, my dear!”  
“Of course, ma’am,” Weiss smiled.

With a wave, Daisy Ebi walked back towards the counter, her cheerful voice welcoming new customers to the shop. Qrow sat down, awestruck. During their entire conversation, Weiss hadn’t stopped writing once. He looked at her as she penned quickly and precisely, pen only lifting from the page to make the space before she scrawled out the next word in what was probably perfect and practiced cursive.

“Weiss…”

“Yes?”

“Why did you take me here?”

“I think that should be obvious.”

Qrow paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. He was still stuck in the elation and the joy of the praise he’d received from Clover’s mother, but his thoughts came back to him after a few moments. He reached into his bag one more time, pulling out his notepad and pen. This time, Weiss didn’t stop him.

“You’re a poet, right?”

“Yes.”

“Can you critique something for me?”

* * *

Christmas arrived a few days after the class did. While Qrow originally had plans to spend part of the day with his nieces, they were otherwise occupied, as he very much expected them to be. Blake explained to him that they’d all be staying with Weiss for the day, before she hopped in a rideshare and started the journey to the Schnee manor.

Clover said that he would be spending the day with his family, but he came back after lunch with a cake in hand, as well as two coffees. He said it was a gift for the both of them from his mother, and Qrow smiled. A majority of the day was pretty lazy as the two of them read through material that the students had submitted. He was rather happy with the results of his people watching assignment, even if the conversation Weiss wrote was fictional one between Qrow, Clover, and Daisy. There was no way that he was going to tell Clover that one.

After having a light dinner and a slice of cake, both of them decided that they’d had enough of being inside for one day, and lightly bundled up to explore the park they could see from their hotel room. Qrow made sure to grab his bag, and the two set off.

The soft snow continued to dance through the air, dusting Qrow and Clover as they walked through the park, before ultimately collecting on the ground in a thin layer of fresh snow. It had been a while since Qrow had actually gotten to experience a white Christmas. Sure, Patch got them every now and then, but he missed the actual white Christmases in Atlas. He’d spent more than a few at a random ski lodge, sitting outside and watching the flakes fall, while he sipped from the flask he used to carry. He could sit outside for hours in the snow had it not been for the cold.

Qrow felt himself underdressed at the best of times, but right now, he was able to stave off the cold a little bit, though he wasn’t sure for how long. Perhaps it was the lively conversation of his companion, or perhaps it was the coffee he'd had that kept him warm. As they wandered about on the path lined by evergreen trees decorated with layer upon layer of snow, Qrow found himself smiling down at the ground a lot.

Clover regaled him with tales from his time in Atlas as a younger man, and Qrow couldn’t help but beam as he listened to tale after tale of the misadventures of his colleague. It sounded as though his friends were a rowdy bunch, but he was dragged along by their schemes, much like Qrow had been dragged along by Summer, Tai, and Raven in their younger years. Nervousness aside, he was glad to have the company, since Yang and Ruby were off with their girlfriends.

Any reservations he’d had about accepting Clover’s offer to spend the holiday together disappeared long ago.

“And that’s why I’m never allowed to go to the noodle shop on the corner.”

“Oh my god Clover.”

“What, we returned the trays!”

“After you used them as sleds?”

“I didn’t say we returned them in one piece.”

Qrow shoved Clover playfully, earning a bump right back. “Maybe they’ve forgotten who you are, so you can go again!”

“Nope, that’s Vine’s mother’s shop,” Clover laughed. “She’s had it out for me ever since, and trust me…she never forgets a face.”

They came to a halt in the middle of a bridge over the frozen creek that ran through the middle of the park. Delicate icicles held onto the railing tightly, as snow padded the tops of each post. Qrow brushed some of the snow off, and leaned against the structure, looking around the rest of the winter scene. Despite the early sunset, the snowfall made it easy to maintain visibility, as did the warm glow of the uniform lamps throughout the area. The benches that lined the twisting paths were all empty, and there was not a sign of life anywhere within view. There were a few distant sounds that came from outside the walls, laughter, a few faint songs, some bells here and there, but within the walls there was silence, seclusion, secrecy.

In this sugar dusted landscape, Clover and Qrow were completely alone.

Qrow ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

 _Okay_.

“Uh…Clover…”

“Yes, Qrow?”

Qrow looked up to face his companion, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He was glad for the frost that nipped at his cheeks, because they’d be an ample enough excuse for the color he felt on his face. Clover stood in front of him, a thick green sweater with light padding on the shoulders and elbows that had become speckled with the fresh precipitation. The satchel bag he had was hanging off of his left shoulder, and it threatened to slip off without a moment’s warning, though that was its usual position. Clover’s gloved hand pulled lightly at the scarf around his neck, loosening it just a bit, before moving to brush some of the snow out of his hair. He seemed a little surprised at how much was there, as evidenced by the tiniest of jolts at the multitude of flakes.

Okay, Qrow’s heart skipped more than a beat.

“Thanks for spending the rest of the holiday with me,” Qrow said.

“Any time, Qrow,” Clover smiled back. “It was my pleasure.”  
Qrow chuckled, raising a hand to the back of his neck. He paused for a moment, before moving to take off his backpack. He set it down on top of his feet, before unzipping it. He pulled out a small parcel that had been wrapped late the night before. “I…I got you something…I guess you could say as a thanks for everything.”

When he stood back up to his full height, he handed it out to Clover. What he wasn’t expecting was a thin box being held out to him in return.

“I…I got something for you too…”

Both men laughed heartily for a few moments at one another in the empty park. Once again, Qrow felt color come to his cheeks as he and Clover exchanged presents. While Qrow’s present to Clover had been flat and thin, his own in return was a long box that was deceptively light. He looked at it with suspicion for a second, before he looked up to see Clover’s expectant face. “Oh, me first?”

“I insist.”

Qrow smirked before tearing at the wrapping paper. the box underneath seemed to be a two-piece box, as he was careful not to grab it by the lid. He thought about shaking it for a moment, but that seemed inappropriate, and honestly a little childish, even for him. Qrow gently removed the lid and there sat a beautiful gift staring up at him in a crimson-cushioned container. There was a long, perfectly shaped, crow-feather quill with a shining fountain tip. He stared at it in awe for a moment, before looking up at Clover.

“Well, I remember you saying you liked physical paper and writing by hand, so I thought this would be nice for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” Qrow smiled, and his chest swelled as he looked down at the gift. It was very much like Clover to get him something so thoughtful, something so practical, but something he couldn’t wait to integrate into his writing. He gingerly grabbed it between his thumb and index finger and ran them along the length of the ornate quill. He sighed at the touch of it, dreaming to be in a place where he could write unhindered, brand new inkwell waiting to be used. He wanted to know how the quill felt to use, how smooth it was, how beautiful the lettering on his pages would be. He beamed as he bent over to place the box in his backpack, and picked the bag back up. “Thank you, Clover.”

“May I open mine now?”

“Of course.”

Clover looked for the tape holding the wrapping together instead of tearing into it like Qrow had done so. It took a moment, but once he removed the tape, Clover neatly unwrapped the contents that were inside. After one more flip, a handmade notebook fell into his hands. It had a dark green cover, with an ornately etched Celtic pattern, all stemming from a giant, four-leaf clover in the middle of the cover. Qrow had found it back at an old notebook store in Beacon and decided to get it for Clover between finals and departing for the trip.

The man stared down at the notebook, and back up to Qrow, before flipping the book over, and thumbing through the freshly bound pages, starting at the back.

“Qrow this…”

“Actually, if you flip to the front, there’s more,” Qrow said, trying to kill his nerves but failing.

Clover looked up for a moment, and flipped promptly to the first few pages, eyes going wide. The result of Qrow’s work stared up at him, a short poem split between the first four pages, with one stanza per page in the finest handwriting Qrow could muster. Clover raised a hand to his mouth, expression completely unreadable in the pale light of the moon reflecting off of the snow that surrounded the two of them.

Qrow’s heart threatened at any second to burst out of his chest. If he hesitated any longer, he wouldn’t be able to do what he’d set out to do. He needed to do it now before he lost all conviction. Clover’s eyes darted between the pages and Qrow, but before he could process the words on the page, Qrow began to recite them from heart.

> "Lucidity  
>  under the light of the moon  
>  cannot be  
>  known as a strength of  
>  yours truly
> 
> Chivalrous  
>  hands and  
>  admirable mind  
>  rescue the lost  
>  most opportunely
> 
> Of course  
>  friendly platitudes ensue
> 
> Maybe for you  
>  i can cast aside lingering  
>  notions of doubt  
>  eternally freeing my soul"

The silence that followed was too long.

Qrow’s hand ran through his hair, and he looked away from Clover, desperation to flee his embarrassment rising. He opened his mouth a few times to speak before the words finally came to him. “It’s called ‘Four Leaf’…because of the pages and stanzas…well that and I guess it’s dedicated to someone I know…okay yes, it’s you…”

Clover continued to stand motionless, eyes, never daring to look away from Qrow. He seemed as though he were stunned into some sort of a stupor, and Qrow would give anything to hear him speak. He knew the gift was stupid. He knew better than to try and impress the prodigal poet with a poem of his own. Gods, he was so out of practice. It was a terrible idea. He should have just given him the notebook. He should have left it at that. But no, he had to go the extra mile. Why did he have to do that?

“Clover…can you…can you please just say something?” Qrow stammered. “This was a dumb idea, I shouldn’t have done this, sorry. You probably think it’s bad.” One of Qrow’s hands covered his mouth, and his other arm wrapped around his own midsection, as emotions barely below the surface threatened to overflow. This was the last thing he wanted right now. He stared at the toes of his shoes, trying to hide his embarrassment before it could blossom further, but what he found when he looked down was another pair of boots inches away from his own.

“So does this mean you consider me a friend?”

He followed the black boots up.

Up the slim, dark-washed jeans.

Up past the army green sweater, patches and all.

Up past the scarf, now looser and carrying more flakes in the folds of the fabric.

He felt a hand gently pull at the one covering his mouth, before placing itself on the side of his face. It slid down, fingers that brushed his cheek with the barest of promises now cupping his chin and lifting his head.

Qrow’s eyes continued their path upward.

Past a clean-shaven jaw.

Past pristine lips.

Qrow found himself staring into the teal eyes of Clover Ebi in the faint light, his face framed by perfectly kept hair that was dotted with stars in this solitary park in the silence of the snowfall.

In an instant he knew.

Clover pulled off his scarf and draped it over Qrow’s shoulders. Qrow froze in place as Clover’s deft hands tied and adjusted the scarf, never pulling too tightly. The taller man cocked his head to the side and smirked, satisfied with the job he’d done. He stepped back slightly, before speaking. “Well then, if we’re friends now, you have to wear my scarf back to the hotel. You’ve got a bit of jack frost nipping at your face there.”

Clover winked and started walking. He only made it a few steps before he paused and looked back at Qrow.

“You coming, or what?”

Qrow nodded and took a few quick steps before he fell in stride side by side with Clover. The walk back to the hotel was silent, but both of the men wore smiles brightly on their faces. Qrow’s hands played with the straps of his backpack as they made their way up in the elevator, glances cast at one another were met with soft smiles, soft chuckles, and soft sighs, instead of the aversion. When they reached their hotel room, Clover placed the book on his bed before heading to the bathroom, presumably to shower.

Qrow collapsed on his own bed, and his hands covered his face. The revelation he’d come to at the park. He’d been an idiot. He’d been careless. But now, he was a goner. Qrow shirked off his jacket, and curled up on top of the sheets, a strained sigh escaping his lips. That sigh turned into a laugh, and as he laid there on the bed that overlooked the park and the rest of Atlas. In a place so public and yet so private high above the city streets, Qrow finally allowed himself to admit the truth he’d been struggling with since the night he wandered over aimlessly to Clover’s apartment.

_I love him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here!! Thanks again for reading my newest chapter!!! I really hope you all enjoyed it! My apologies for missing out on updating on Valentine's Day, but life had other plans. Hopefully this was worth the wait!
> 
> I can't believe I decided to write another poem...but I guess that's what happened! And we have Mama Ebi making a minor appearance! Seriously though, I can't stress enough how much your support encourages me and motivates me. You've all been seriously amazing, especially over the past few weeks. I'm so lucky to have you all reading this story, and every time you all reach out and let me know, it seriously puts a huge smile on my face and makes it all worth it. Please, please, please let me know what you think! Kudos, comments, reblogs on Tumblr, and anything in that realm is hugely appreciated!!
> 
> As always, you can follow or reach me on my Tumblr: https://smol--jelly.tumblr.com
> 
> I post status updates and links to new chapters, and sneak peeks when chapters are completed (before they're edited). I hope you all have a lovely weekend!
> 
> Love,  
> Jelly ♥


	9. Pleasant Seclusion and Abrasive Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: This chapter has content relating to a previous, abusive relationship. Please protect yourselves while reading.

Qrow thought nothing of it when he was extended an invite to Weiss’ for New Year’s Eve. While the invitation did technically come from Clover, Clover made it clear that Weiss made sure to mention him. It wouldn’t do for him to not be able to see his nieces on both winter holidays, and since her family apparently threw a party every year, it would be the perfect place for Qrow to be to bring in the new year. He’d have his nieces, and he’d be absolutely sure to have Ruby tell him just how horrendous the stay with Weiss had been. He’d be able to keep an eye on his students as well, since Weiss extended the whole class an invitation.

Qrow would also have Clover.

But that was a nightmare in and of itself.

Qrow thought that his realization would make it a little easier to be around Clover. He thought that he’d be able to finally relax and let tensions between them fall. Now that they were officially friends, he thought that he’d be able to maybe get to know Clover on a deeper level. Maybe the small talk would finally die, and they could have deeper, more meaningful conversations. They could talk for hours about prose or poetry, discussing the intricacies of each of the chosen word forms, and maybe talk about some of their favorite works.  
But that would require Qrow to be able to talk to Clover for a lengthy period of time.

And now that he realized his respect for…

No.

His love.

His love for Clover.

Gods, that was still very fresh.

And if there was one thing Qrow hated more than being someone’s enemy, it was being in love with someone.

Many times now he’d been used for one purpose or another. Maybe his fame, maybe his money, maybe his body, maybe his convenience, it had all been exploited, some far more than others. Years back, he thought himself in love once, but after being left in the dark so many times, an intervention from his friends and sister, and one particularly heartbreaking discovery, Qrow allowed himself to sink down into the blackened pits, once dyed a rose color by his “love.”

There was a vulnerability that love demanded, a vulnerability which Qrow couldn’t face with confidence. No, he was absolutely terrified at his revelation. Clover looked as though he’d be a much better prospect than his old lovers, but they all seemed pretty great at the start as well. With time, the luster lost its glamor, and turned more into a tainted lust. Lust after his status, lust after his money, lust after him. Time after time, his lovers had taken from him, and all of it taxing. He wasn’t sure how much more of it he could endure, but there was something about Clover.

Something that made him want to try.

That is, if he could manage to hold a conversation any longer.

Before it had been simple. He could always dismiss Clover with a look or a wave before stepping into a room. He could always claim to be with a student or about to go to another conference. But now, now was different. On Thanksgiving, he had resolved himself to work his way into Clover’s life to be supportive, but since he’d been burrowing, he didn’t think he’d be able to jettison safely now if things went south. Inserting himself into Clover’s life was safer when it was just accompanied by the intention of being friends, but with newfound feelings, any semblance of safety fell away.

And there was still the matter of this mysterious “Beloved” that had Clover’s rapt attention. Why did Qrow have to go and pick someone who was already in love with someone else? Why did he have to go after someone he knew he’d probably never be able to have? Qrow was not a jealous man, but he couldn’t help but fixate on this mysterious person. His feelings were a mess, and he frankly wasn’t even sure he’d be able to hold his composure together completely at the party, but he really did want to see his nieces, even if it was just for a little.

The dress code for tonight for men was black tie. He had no idea how some of his students would be able to pull it off, but if there was one thing he learned from his previous trips to Atlas, it was to always have high class apparel at the ready. He had a black tuxedo, with a rich, green bowtie and vest covered with a vine pattern to contrast with his eyes and make them pop. Qrow spent half an hour after his shower just fixing his hair and getting everything else ready for the evening.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he took in the sight of Clover staring out the window. He was wearing a nicely fitting tuxedo as well, but his bowtie and vest were a deep red, presumably to make his own eyes stand out. His hair was done up, and he had his customary pin stuck on his lapel. Clover smiled at Qrow as he stepped out into the room, taking note of his appearance.

“Why is it I’ve never seen you in a tuxedo?” Qrow asked.

“So that you can enjoy it the few times you do see it,” Clover smirked. “A Schnee party is a rare occurrence. Shall we go?”

Qrow underestimated how powerful Weiss’ family was. He knew that she was some sort of singer, and he learned from firsthand experience that she had somewhat of a following in Atlas. What he didn’t know the extent of her reach.

Weiss Schnee had been something of a powerhouse in Atlas. At a young age, she took an interest in several different professions, each majorly in the spotlight. She started with dance, ballet to be more precise. Ballet eventually evolved into music, where she discovered her talent as a singer. The young jewel of Atlas turned into a household name quickly. Records flew off the shelves and her concerts across the country were always packed. When she made her musical theater debut, _The Four Maidens_ sold out almost as soon as the tickets went on sale.

Of course, she wasn’t able to do so without tremendous backing.

Her father, Jacques, was the head of a major Atlesian conglomerate. While the original company was in the energy industry, it soon branched out. The scientists started expanding their research to other fields, and before they knew it, the Schnee company soon started acquiring smaller businesses left and right. By the time Weiss was old enough to start exploring her creative side, the company had grown and had a hand in nearly every major industry in some way, shape, or form. As the company grew further, they used Weiss’ image and work to promote them. There were rumors that Jacques was considering going into politics, and if he used Weiss to promote him as he’d used her to promote the company, then he would win for sure.

There wasn’t much to be said for the rest of the Schnee family though. Weiss’ mother evaded the public eye, and the official statement indicated she’d had some medical troubles throughout the years, leaving her a frail woman. Her older sister, Winter, cut herself off from the company as soon as she turned 18, and she never looked back. She enrolled in the Atlesian Military Academy and had apparently made a name for herself there. The only time Qrow had actually seen her was when she was sent to collect him from a bar, and he’d offered a fair amount of resistance. As for Weiss’ younger brother, he was being groomed to step into the family business, even though he was still young.

A famous family.

An exclusive, high class party.

A limo sent to pick up Qrow and Clover.

Qrow had reservations before, and they were only growing with each passing minute.

When they pulled into the gates at the edge of the grounds, Qrow and Clover both stared out the windows in awe. The driveway itself was absolutely massive, flanked on one side by a reflecting pool, and on the other by ornately shaped statues, separating the pavement from the garden. The mansion ahead of them was huge. The main structure had a fair amount of height to it, and it looked more like a political or historical landmark than an actual house. On either side of the main entryway were long, connecting hallways that looked as though they led to separate wings, which had probably been designated for different uses as well. As they pulled up closer, Qrow had to crane his neck to even be able to look at the top of the building, and when they pulled to a stop, he paled at what was waiting for them outside of the limo.

About 400 feet away was the actual entrance to the Schnee manor, but between here and there was a long walkway, absolutely crowded with reporters and journalists, snapping pictures in turn of the guests who were getting out of their vehicles. Women dressed up in their finest apparel, and the men were all clean cut and standing tall. Qrow leaned away from the door, as if pretending this was the wrong stop would allow him to just return back to the hotel in silence, but when he did, he backed directly into Clover’s arm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Qrow lied. “I just…thought this was going to be a lot smaller. You know, just family and friends.”

“Ah, yeah,” Clover nodded. “I remember my first time.”

“I’m out of my league,” Qrow said, looking down at his hands.

“No, you’re not,” Clover said, placing his own hand on one of Qrow’s. “You’ve got this. Just follow my lead.”

With that, Clover moved around Qrow, and stepped out of the limo first, holding a hand back towards Qrow to help him out of the vehicle. Qrow hesitated for a moment, before accepting the hand, and stepping out into full view. There was a small queue of people standing in front of them, each one handing an invitation to someone at the start of the row of journalists, who would in turn announce their names and hand the invitation back to them. With each announcement, the paparazzi turned, questions started flying, cameras started flashing, and guests started making their way down, stopping here and there for the occasional pose or answer.

Qrow felt himself tense up as they drew closer to the front of the line, the color draining from his face. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t huge on public appearances. Even the smaller book signings were sometimes too much for him. He considered the possibility that people wouldn’t know who he is, but somehow that felt worse. Having all of these high-powered individuals and couples being recognized before him, only for him to walk through unknown, would somehow feel very insulting. Even if it meant that he wouldn’t have to deal with as many people, he didn’t want to have to go through with the embarrassment that went in hand with being an unknown at an event like this.

Then he felt a squeeze. He looked down and realized that his hand was still in Clover’s. Calm. Strong. Dependable Clover. Clover looked at him and grinned, before he leaned forward and whispered in Qrow’s ear.

“We’ve got this,” he said. In his other hand, Clover had the invitation. He held it out to the announcer, who looked over it, and cross-checked it with the book of guests. Qrow looked at it as best as he could and realized that each of the names in the book was accompanied by a short paragraph of information, as well as a photo Qrow could only assume was for identity checking. The announcer looked up at the both of them with scrutiny one more time, before turning to look at the photo area. The last couple reached the end, and the announcer read into the microphone.

“Mister Qrow Branwen, author of the award-winning books: _Harbinger_ , _Misfortune_ , _Bad Luck Charm_ , _Bird’s Eye View_ , _Lost Adrift_ , and the _Salem Witch_ series. Professor of literature and fiction at Beacon University.”

As the announcer made his way through Qrow’s book titles, he scanned the crowd, a mixture of relief and terror coming over him as the looks of recognition started to flash across the faces of many waiting for him. He knew his books were popular, but often times he found himself refraining from looking up statistics about his sales in fear of rejection or negative reviews. Unfortunately, this also meant that he had no idea how widespread he was. Sure, his books had netted him a fair amount of money, but it was money that he’d just as soon give away to his family members for things like college funds, medical operations, rehab, and future savings. It was money that was also taken from him by his partners in the past to fund their own dreams. With himself more as a middleman, he found it easy to lose track of his own success. Still, he had to admit, it felt nice to be recognized along with the rest of the A-listers.

“See? They know you,” Clover whispered again, as if he could read Qrow’s mind. Qrow smiled down at his feet, and then looked back at the announcer as he read out Clover’s introduction.

“Accompanying him, Mister Clover Ebi, author of the award-winning poetry collections: _Kingfisher,_ _Fortune’s Fool, Good Luck Charm, Look to the Stars, In the Desert,_ and _Heart on Fire_. Professor of poetry and fiction at Beacon University.”

“Accompanying me?”

“I am doing that, am I not?”

The same recognition came over the rest of the waiting press, and suddenly, all eyes were trained on the pair. Qrow let go of Clover’s hand as everyone started turning their cameras towards the duo. Apprehension rising was quickly interrupted by a chuckle from his side.

“Well then, if I’m accompanying you, should you take my arm, or should I take yours?” Clover smirked, holding his arm in a way that would allow Qrow to loop his own through it. Qrow paused, looking from Clover to the press, and back to Clover.

“You may walk now,” the announcer said. “No more than 5 questions, please keep answers brief.”

Qrow slipped his arm through Clover’s, and the two made their way forward. Along the route, there were three “x” markers, where they were supposed to stop and looked out and the crowd awaiting them and pose for pictures. Qrow’s face was serious, but Clover’s soft smile was a stark contrast. Honestly, everything about the two couldn’t be more different: their demeanors, their color palettes, hell even thinking over their bodies of work listed one after another sounded as though most of it was contrasting.

At the first “x” mark, they stopped and faced everyone, flashes abundant, and their names were being called out again and again.

“Mister Ebi, what’s it like to be back in Atlas?”

“Atlas was always my home,” he answered, voice sounding sincere. “But now, my life and heart belong to Beacon. Still, it is nice to be back.”

“Mister Branwen, how does it feel to know that you were the major driving force in attracting Mr. Ebi to Beacon University?”

“Was I? This is the first I’m hearing of it!” Qrow cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I guess it slipped my mind! You are pretty intimidating at the best of times,” Clover laughed. He leaned in again, speaking loudly enough for only Qrow to hear. “We can talk about that later.”

The simple gesture caused the onlookers to start shouting their names louder, but with a small wave from Clover, they started moving again. A few more steps. Qrow found himself gripping onto Clover’s arm more intensely than he intended, but he needed something to anchor himself to prevent himself from losing his senses and balance in front of the ever-vigilant cameras. Another mark. More pictures, and more questions.

“It’s been a year since either of you published something. What can we look forward to?”

“Well, you see…” Qrow began, before he was cut off by an enthusiastic Clover.

“We’re actually working on an anthology together. Something to bring in new students and show off our English program,” Clover said, as if it was the most natural, preplanned thing in the world. “No title yet, and it’ll come when it’s ready.”

“What brings you back to Atlas? Is this business or pleasure?”

“Both for me,” Clover replied. “My mother still lives up here, but we’re actually leading a program right now for the school, so we’re here on business.”

“And for you Mr. Branwen?”

“I would say we’re more geared towards business on my end,” Qrow stated, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I like Atlas, and while the people seem to be warmer this time around, it’s definitely colder than I remember.”

That earned a laugh from the reporters, as the pair turned away and made their way towards the final mark. More of the same as before: pose for the cameras, be blinded by the flashing, and try to discern a question from the actual shouting at them. With his senses overwhelmed, Qrow could hardly focus on any one voice long enough to hear what it was saying. He turned towards Clover, but Clover seemed to be struggling as well, so Qrow pointed at one of the reporters.

He immediately wished he’d chosen anyone else.

“Forgive me for prying, but with Mr. Ebi leaving home to go teach at Beacon University, inspired by your work, and now both of you here at his home for holiday, what exactly is your relationship?”

Literally anyone else.

Qrow felt himself tense up, but he also felt Clover do the same. He turned towards Clover hesitantly, starting to answer without looking at the asker. “We’re colleagues, or at least he hasn’t told me otherwise.”

“What our relationship is doesn’t matter to anyone who isn’t a part of it,” Clover said, eyes not breaking away from Qrow’s. “He inspired me, and he drives me to work harder. I hope to inspire him and drive him to work hard in return. I look up to him and hope one day he can look up to me. There’s no way to properly show my appreciation for Qrow Branwen, the man’s a genius.”

Qrow’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly, words no longer forming in his mind. Before he had a chance to respond more thoroughly to the interviewer, Qrow felt the arm he held reposition itself, and a hand rested on the small of his back. A gentle push moved him forward, and before long, the two reached the end of the carpet, and new introductions were being called out. The two looked at each other for a moment, before Clover nodded towards the entrance.

“Shall we go in?”

“I have questions. Several.”

“We can talk about them all you want.”

The outside of the manor didn’t prepare them appropriately enough for the inside of the building. If anything, the inside looked a lot larger, with many gigantic sculptures and paintings decorating every space. The place was pristine and sterile, and the staff eagerly led everyone from the entrance hall to the actual location of the party, which was the ballroom in the east wing. They walked past a small area that seemed to be a coat check and stepped to the door to the ballroom. They presented their invitation a second time, at the request of a second announcer, and their accomplishments were read out once again, but this time for the other A-listers instead of eager journalists. Some of them turned to acknowledge them, while others continued going about their business of drinking and dancing.

Among the group of people that acknowledged their arrival were their students. Weiss had them brought over earlier in the day so that they’d be able to get in without being harassed by the journalists. Their names were met with loud cheers from the students, and Qrow could see his nieces standing among the group of young adults, who both gave him a double thumbs-up. The only one not with the students was Weiss, who was on stage, standing at the mic. She wasn’t singing quite yet, but he had a feeling she’d be singing more than her fair share of numbers before the night was over.

In addition to the students and a few random members of the party here and there, there was one person who actually seemed to make a point to acknowledge them. He was a slender man with stark white hair, a white suit, piercing blue eyes, and a white moustache comparable to a cloud. He seemed pleasant enough, until he spoke with a tone that would curl even the greasiest hair.

“Ah yes, the professors,” he said, extending a hand. “Good to see you again Mr. Ebi, and nice to meet you Mr. Branwen.”

The pair shook his hand in turn.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Jacques?”

“Yes, you always turn down my invitation to these things,” Jacques replied, frowning. “But I’m glad to see you could make an appearance tonight…especially with your students…”

“Full of surprises, this one is,” Qrow nodded towards Clover. “Never know what you’re going to get with him.”

“Quite. Well, I hope you enjoy your evening, and should you want for anything, please let one of the staff know,” Jacques instructed. He turned away from the pair and greeted the next people to come through the door, while Qrow and Clover made their way into the room. They started walking towards the students, until Clover paused.

“I see one of my old colleagues over there. I’m going to go say hello to her,” he explained. “Are you okay if I go for a moment?”

“Sure,” Qrow said. “If you can’t find me, I’m probably outside, trying to take a breather from everyone.”

“Okay, text me if you need anything urgent,” Clover said. “But I’ll find you when I’m done catching up.”

Qrow nodded, and the two separated, with Qrow making his way towards his nieces and the other students. He was intercepted by a waiter who offered him a glass of champagne, but he brushed him off and continued towards his original destination. The girls greeted him in turn, each of them dressed to the nines, and he was surprised that any of them brought anything fancy on the trip with them.

“Weiss took us all shopping this morning on the company card,” Ruby explained. She had a floor length gown to hide the fact that she was wearing flats instead of heels. It had a faint beginning of a sweetheart neckline, but the rest of the top of the dress was crimson, with rose shaped stitching suitable to her. The dress blossomed around the waist area into a princess gown, with a few roses around the hem, vines making their way up. “Can’t leave a bad impression at a party like this.”

“At least she let us choose,” Yang shrugged. Her simple black tuxedo was contrasted by gold vest, and a light purple tie and matching pocket square in her breast pocket. The combination of colors seemed to be more daring than most of the Atlesian guests, though looking around at his students, most of them had gone for bold color choices, so it was pretty apparent that despite their efforts to be fancy and refined, they still stuck out. “How’s the trip going?”

“Mine’s alright, and yours?” Qrow asked in turn.

“Weiss’ parents pretty much let us do what we want, as long as we don’t get in their way,” Ruby replied. “It’s almost like we aren’t people, but just another logistic for them to work around.”

“Yikes,” Qrow hissed. “Well, say the magic word and I’ll get you out of here, kiddo.”

“Nah,” Ruby said. “Besides, I think Weiss needs the support. She’s not letting it show, but I think this is really draining on her.”

“I was only with them for a day and I felt that,” Yang interjected. “But no need to worry about me, I’ve been staying with Blake.”

Yang looked to the side and waved Blake over to join them. She stepped up, her sleek black dress deeply contrasting the bright yellow corsage she wore around her wrist and the purple sash she had tied around her midsection. She lightly waved to Qrow, before stepping closer to Yang, who placed an arm around her waist.

“Hi Professor,” she smiled.

“Hi Blake,” he replied. “If Yang’s staying with you, what about Neptune?”

“He’s with Sun,” Yang answered. “I suggested we all share the room, but when the boys fell asleep first the first night, we drew on their faces in marker. They didn’t trust us after that.”

“Really Yang?” Qrow shook his head.

“Hey, it was Blake’s idea!”

Blake covered her mouth and stifled a giggle, while Qrow looked at her, awestruck. “Huh…well I take back what I said a few months ago, Blake. Looks like you’re more than capable of keeping up with my nieces. Just don’t ask me to bail any of you out of jail.”

“Speaking of keeping up,” Ruby spoke up again. “How’s things with Clover?”

“Uhhh…what do you mean?”

“How are you two?” Yang asked, as if her answer gave more clarity to the original question.

“I mean, our classes are going fine, so-”

“I think they mean have you made a move yet,” Blake translated, and Qrow felt his face grow hot.

“I…I don’t…I have no clue what gave you that idea…” Qrow stammered out. “Seriously, why do you want to know?”

“Come on, Uncle Qrow, Thanksgiving?”

“He was sick.”

“Finals week?”

“We had similar work.”

“Your poem?”

“Remind me to give Weiss an F,” Qrow grumbled. “I think I’m going to step outside.”

He turned his back to the girls and started making his way towards one of the doors along the walls of the ballroom. He stepped outside and found himself standing on a small balcony, overlooking a steep drop-off. There was a garden a ways down, but it looked as though it was built specifically into the earth for some reason, so the drop-off below the balcony was completely artificial. As for the balcony itself, there were several fire elements that radiated heat, in case someone needed fresh air and decided to step out in the middle of the winter night. Rich people like this confused him.

He looked up at the sky, not a single star illuminating it amidst all of the light pollution from the city. He frowned, but he was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of two pairs of shoes behind him.

“Uncle Qrow, we’re only asking because we care,” Ruby said.

“Yeah, you seem to be a lot happier since you’ve become friends with him,” Yang said. “But that’s not all.”

“Look, girls,” Qrow sighed, facing them. “I wish I had a simple answer for you, but even if I felt that way for him, which I don’t…”

Yang and Ruby both shot him doubting looks.

“Clover and I have complicating circumstances.”

“Have you talked to him about it?” Ruby scolded him.

“No,” Qrow admitted. “If it was that simple, I would have done so already.”

“Just do it soon,” Yang told him. “I think he’s good for you. He’s got our support.”

“You two hardly know him,” Qrow said suspiciously.

“True, but Weiss and Blake have seen what’s going on between you two,” Ruby said. “They said you might have a thing for him, and we just…you know we love you, Uncle Qrow.”

“Yeah, you deserve to be happy for once,” Yang nodded. “And if he hurts you, let me beat him up this time.”

“Even if I did like him, he’s already in love with someone else,” Qrow said, hanging his head. “I saw his letters.”

“Oh…well…do you know who it is?”

“No, but…”

“If it’s a no, then you still have a chance,” Ruby said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s right,” Yang agreed, placing her hand on Qrow’s other shoulder. “We think you’re great, so if he can’t see that, he’s an idiot.” Qrow hugged both of them, and they stayed like that for a moment.

“Thanks,” he said as they separated. “You two should probably go back inside. Your girlfriends probably want to spend time with you tonight.”

The sisters nodded and walked step in step back towards the door. As they approached, Clover stepped into the doorway.

“Ah, there you are Qrow!”

“We warmed him up for you, tiger,” Yang said, elbowing Clover hard. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Uh…thanks…” Clover replied, confused, and Qrow pinched the bridge of his nose. Yang never was one for subtlety. As soon as the two of them stepped around Clover, they both gave Qrow two thumbs up again, before walking away. “Weren’t those your nieces?”

“Yeah,” Qrow said. “That’s them.”

“Why are they here?” Clover asked leaning against the railing next to Qrow.

“Ruby is Weiss’ girlfriend, and Yang likes snowboarding up in Atlas,” he explained. “Yang always used to come up with me during the trips.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Clover nodded. “I think you might’ve mentioned that once or twice. So why are you out here already? I thought you’d at least last a little longer inside.”

“Big parties aren’t really my thing,” Qrow shrugged. “Plus, that press row from earlier was kind of draining if I’m being honest.”

“Sorry, I should have warned you,” Clover said, firmly clapping Qrow on the back. “But you did great! The crowd seemed to like you!”

“Yeah, but that’s only because I had you there to actually answer the questions for me,” Qrow chuckled. “Seriously, I don’t think I said anything special.”

“I think you’re okay,” Clover said. “You should come in and mingle with some of the people here. I know you’re already established, but it could still be pretty lucrative.”

“Maybe in a little,” Qrow said, fingers coming up to his chin. “Do you mind if we stay out here for a little longer?”

“Whatever you want,” Clover nodded at him.

For a while, the two of them resumed the once comfortable silence they could hold for periods of time. But ever since Qrow’s realization, the silence was no longer comfortable. He was painfully aware of the handsome man beside him. Every movement, every sound, every sigh, every chuckle, nothing got by him. This heightened sensitivity to Clover also meant that he was desperate to talk about anything, to hear Clover’s voice, because maybe then it could be the thing he fixated on, instead of letting his mind wander and disappoint him with thoughts of an actual relationship that were unfulfillable.

The nerve-racking walk between the limo and the manor entrance had given rise to new questions in Qrow’s mind, but he didn’t want to hear the answers to any of them, at least not yet, lest he risk falling in love with the man even more, and making his eventual forced separation from him more painful. He wanted to know if he truly was what brought Clover to Beacon, just how much his work had influenced him, and he wanted to know about so much more. He wanted to know if the words he said in front of the cameras and microphones were just empty words, or if they had truth to them. Was he just doing a publicity bit to bait the crowd, or did he actually believe in the words he was saying? How many times had he practiced those answers, or were they something that came from deeper within at the spur of the moment?

Speaking of his answers, one came to mind that Qrow felt comfortable enough to ask about.

“So…we’re writing an anthology?” he asked. “This is news to me.”

“Oh,” Clover perked up a bit, eyes darting away from Qrow. “Yeah, that…I was going to propose the idea to you…since we’re on good terms now…but I’ve already pitched the idea to Dr. Ozpin, and he seemed to like it.”

“Another ‘tell Oz before me’ kind of project? Come on, Mr. Perfect,” Qrow laughed. “You really have to come to me before you get Ozpin on board with something.”

“This was still back before you said we were friends,” Clover admitted sheepishly. “I’ve wanted to do something like this, but I thought telling Ozpin would be the only way you’d get on board with the project…”

“That’s pretty sneaky of you…” Qrow said, eyes narrowing. “But hey, tell you what: you ask me nicely right now, and I’ll consider saying yes.”

“Really?” Clover remarked, standing up straighter and turning back to Qrow. “You mean it?”

“I mean…you’re going to have to ask me really nicely,” Qrow said, pretending to be aloof. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, but I might be able to squeeze it in.”

“You really want me to beg, don’t you?” Clover inquired, shoulders dropping, and face becoming more serious. He shot Qrow a look that said ‘really?’ and Qrow was loving every second of it.

“Not beg, but ask,” Qrow elaborated, trying to stifle more laughter. “But you’ve got to be convincing.”

“Fine, but since we’re at a party, I need you to do something for me if I have to ask you about working together,” Clover negotiated, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Okay, what do you need from me?” Qrow held out both of his hands, as if to show off that they were empty.

He really had to stop falling for this trap.

Clover took one of Qrow’s hands in his own, and slipped the other around Qrow’s waist, earning a shocked gasp from Qrow. There was still space between them, but not nearly enough for Qrow to feel comfortable with. Qrow looked to the side, gazing out at other balconies against the wall of the building, all of which were empty. Underneath the star-less sky on the moonlit night, Qrow found himself held firmly by Clover Ebi, faint music playing in the background.

“Give me a dance, and I’ll ask you nicely.”

Qrow tried to think of an appropriate response, but he eventually surrendered and nodded in silence, before the two of them started swaying gently to the beat of the music. Clover’s hands were firm in their hold, but also careful to consider Qrow. Every movement they made was in time with the music, as well as one another. Qrow could feel the muscles in Clover’s torso as his free hand worked its way up his chest, finally finding its destination and coming to a stop atop Clover’s broad shoulder.

Qrow could hear Weiss’ voice serenading the party as the two slow danced on the solitary balcony. A deserted island in the middle of a vast ocean, the safe harbor amidst the storm, the warm fire on a chilly night.

Home.

Qrow felt at home.

Thousands of miles away from his family in Patch, and Qrow felt at home.

Home in the arms and rhythmic sway of Clover Ebi.

Home in his charming teal gaze that threatened to shake him to his core every time he met it.

Home in his overpowering positivity that cared for him with seemingly every action.

Home in his smile, brighter than the sun after the darkest of nights.

Home in his memories of his apartment, the plants and the books as numerous and vast as his ever-growing admiration of the man.

Before he knew it, Qrow stepped closer, and was resting his chin on Clover’s shoulder, the two of them flush together, continuing to move in time to the ballad. One song become two, and two became four, and four became many more. Qrow’s heart had never been fuller and emptier at the same time. The love he held in his heart felt fulfilled in their dance, but the bitter sweetness of this one-sided love tore at Qrow with every step. While his hold on Clover was gentle, it was also his plea, his prayer, his wish. The gentle placement of his hands, the stillness of his breathing, everything played into his singular desire to be able to be the one that Clover loved.

He didn’t want to give this up for anyone.

He didn’t want anyone else to do this with Clover.

He didn’t want to be left alone anymore.

He needed Clover, and he needed Clover to need him.

Applause inside eventually signaled the end of their dance, as a change in music meant that Weiss’ performance was over. Qrow and Clover pulled apart slightly, both looking towards the ballroom, before looking back at one another. There were a million and one thoughts that Qrow wanted to convey, but as was true for his nature as an author, when they would count, words failed him. He searched for anything, a sign, a notion, the ghost of an idea, anything. He begged, he pleaded with the universe for something as he looked into Clover’s tender gaze, faces mere inches apart.

But the universe is cruel.

It is hellbent on Qrow being tormented.

As in the silence and stillness on their secluded balcony, at the conclusion of their dance, Qrow’s stomach growled very loudly, almost echoing in the night. Qrow and Clover both looked at each other, wide-eyed, and then down as Qrow placed his hand on his stomach. He’d been so nervous about the party that he’d forgotten to eat all day long.

“I…think that means I need dinner…” Qrow chuckled nervously.

Clover stared at him for a moment, and then lowered his head. His body started shaking, and seconds later he tossed his head back and let out the genuine, full-bodied laugh that Qrow had come to love. As the laughter continued, they separated, but Qrow joined in laughing. Of course this would happen now. When else would it happen? This was Qrow after all. The pair stood laughing on the balcony for a little while until their mirth died down.

“I can go look for food,” Clover offered. “You stay out here, and I’ll bring you something.”

“And some water,” Qrow added. “That would be great.”

“Okay, water too,” Clover nodded, and left on his search, leaving Qrow on the balcony watching him leave.

As soon as he was out of view, Qrow turned to look over the railing at the garden below. There were uniformly trimmed hedges along paths to and from a large area right in the middle. There were columns around the outside of the area, and a large statue of a snowflake right in the middle of it. Several benches were placed throughout the paved area in a uniform fashion as if the area was used for outdoor entertainment, as a theater of sorts. There were also several trees that fell in line with each of the columns of the outdoor space. A few other statues were at the corners of the gardens, and it looked as if the statue in the theater area was also on top of a water element.

Qrow imagined various events taking place, what kind of crowds they would draw, how formal they would be, what would the corresponding celebrations afterwards be like, he thought through it all. A summer play, a concert, a coming of age presentation, a press conference. a marriage, a retirement, a funeral, all could be held in this area, and not one of them would feel out of place. Something about the whole manor teetered on the precarious line between fancy and somber, though he was sure if he stayed longer, he would discover the reason, and an unhappy one at that.

He let out a sigh as he leaned with both hands on the railing. He stared at the tips of his fingers for a few moments, and closed his eyes, trying to quiet his busy mind.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Qrow heard the door to the balcony open, and footsteps making their way towards him. He smiled. Suddenly, he felt two strong arms reach around his midsection in an embrace. A muscular body leaned against his own. Qrow smiled to himself and allowed himself to melt into the embrace. Maybe the food mission was unsuccessful, but at least the apology hug would make up for it. He looked down at the hands that were around his waist, and he was horrified. The man hugging him had white sleeves, cuff links sticking out from the ends. One of his hands was in plain view, but the other was covered by a white glove that he knew all too well.

“It’s good to see you again.”

It wasn’t Clover.

Qrow jerked out of the man’s arms and whirled around on his heels to come face to face with the unwanted presence on the balcony. From his shoes to his tie, there wasn’t a single wrinkle to be found on the man. His dress blues were always pristine and crisp, not a single stain or flaw to be found. The man himself, however, had grown a beard since the last time their paths crossed. His hair was beginning to grey a bit, but the steel in his expression and his gaze hadn’t changed one bit. Qrow used to call him a name affectionately when they were…well whatever they were…but now that name was an insult, and he wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of hearing it again.

“Why are you here?”

“I was invited.”

“Shouldn’t you be ordering someone around somewhere not here?”

“You used to like when I ordered you around.”

“Fuck you, I never liked that.”

Qrow’s fight or flight was beginning to kick in, and he suppressed the urge to swing as best as he could, but in truth, he was terrified. He didn’t even consider running into the man a possibility. He thought that he’d be able to go the whole trip without risking this encounter, but apparently, he was wrong. Every inch of him was screaming to do something, but he couldn’t act on any instinct. Qrow stepped backwards as the other on the balcony stepped towards him. Every second an eternity, left alone with the man who tore him down, made him feel like nothing. The man who broke him. The man who only used him when it was convenient for him. The man who never truly saw Qrow as someone.

And the fear was fully taking over.

He needed to get away.

He needed a drink.

He needed something.

Fuck, he needed anything right now but this.

The door opened again, and Qrow’s eyes shot towards Clover, who was returning with two plates of food in his hand. Qrow’s mouth was a grimace, the pain in his face apparent. The fists that were balled at his sides were starting the wring the fabric at the hem of his tuxedo. His colleague was busy looking down at the plates, watching the contents so that he wouldn’t drop them, oblivious to the pleading look in Qrow’s eyes as he announced his arrival.

“Well a lot of the food was gone already, but the staff said there will be more later,” he said nonchalantly. Clover looked up and smiled. “Oh! I see you’ve met my old associate. Qrow, this is the head of the Atlas Military Academy, General James Ironwood.”

“We know each other,” Ironwood said coldly.

“Do you, now?” Clover laughed, and he looked from Ironwood to Qrow. When he saw Qrow’s face contorted in fear, the smile fell away from his own quickly. Qrow’s eyes shot quickly to Ironwood, and then back to Clover, before he mouthed ‘help me’ just out of view of Ironwood.

“Oh, uh, sorry to interrupt the reunion then,” Clover started, “but Qrow I think Blake was looking for you. She said something about your niece having trouble, and that you should go help her out.”

Qrow sent up a thank you to the universe, but as he tried to pass Ironwood, the man grabbed at his wrist. “Hopefully we can see more of each other while you’re in Atlas.”

Qrow wrenched his arm out of Ironwood’s solid grip and turned away from him without a word. When he stood between Clover and Ironwood, Clover nodded subtly so that Ironwood wouldn’t notice it, and Qrow all but ran inside the manor, desperate to get away. He looked around, not recognizing anyone in the sea of people, and his panic kicked into overdrive. Which way was the way out? Where were his nieces? Why the fuck was fucking Ironwood there? Where was a damn drink when he needed one? Fuck, he really needed a drink.

With his nieces out of sight, Qrow tried to traverse the ballroom, not-so-gently making his way through the crowd, looking for one of three things: a familial face, an exit, or a waiter. The faces started to blend together, the music and chatter were too overstimulating, and Qrow’s pace sped up as the room began to spin. Memories he’d tried to bury of his relationship with Ironwood were violently resurfacing. All of the manipulation, all of the isolation, all of the use. It didn’t matter how much anyone else took from Qrow, because all of them together were miniscule in comparison to the will and vitality that Ironwood robbed him of. Each passing memory, each cold morning, each scolding, each night he was left unsatisfied or alone, each time he’d been neglected on a holiday or birthday, each time he was shoved aside so as to not tarnish Ironwood’s reputation, everything was coming back. Qrow’s desperation grew and grew as his search became frantic. Eventually he found one of his goals.

A man in a well pressed uniform had a tray in his hand with several glasses of champagne.

Qrow approached the man as calmly as he could, and the server smiled at him, holding out the tray for Qrow to take the glass. Qrow took it without a word, and so as to not raise suspicion, he resolved to walk away from the server before he would down the glass in one go. He looked around again and found an exit to the corridor that led back to the main hall, which he made his way towards. Qrow looked around, and judged it to be empty, before he leaned against the corridor wall. He stared at the bubbling drink in his hands for a moment and smelled that once familiar scent. He closed his eyes, and rose the drink towards his mouth, desperate for the forgetful, unconscious bliss he used to live in not too long ago.

But the glass never met his lips.

He opened his eyes to see a hand covering the top of the glass, and when he followed the hand, he found it attached to none other than Clover Ebi. A Clover Ebi that was staring at him with concern, pain in his eyes which betrayed the subtle smile he was giving Qrow.

“Give me the glass, Qrow,” he said softly.

“I need it,” Qrow replied, voice wavering. “I want to get out of here.”

“Please,” Clover insisted once more. “Let’s put down the glass, and then let’s get you out of here. I promise he won’t touch you again, but I really think you should put down the glass.”

“But I’m remembering things,” Qrow started tearing up. “I don’t want to remember them. I want them to go away.” Qrow rubbed at his watering eyes with his free hand, and he stared down, averting his gaze away from Clover. Gods, he must think him so pathetic. He must think him pathetic and weak. A grown man sniveling like a child in a public place. A man who couldn’t contain his emotions. A man who couldn’t be civil. And with each thought he imagined from Clover, he broke down more and more. He let go of the glass, and Clover took it.

Clover looked around the corridor as Qrow had moments before, and after seeing no one around, he took a few steps away from Qrow before placing the glass down on the ground on the other side of the space. The second it touched the ground, he surged back towards Qrow, one hand coming up to his face, and the other reaching for a handkerchief. He pulled it out and started wiping at the tears that finally started rolling down his cheeks.

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Fuck…I’ve got you, Qrow, come with me. We’ll get out of here. The party’s getting dull anyways,” he chuckled, trying to pry a smile from Qrow to no avail. He frowned once more, before reinforcing his resolve.

Clover began to lead Qrow down the corridor, his grip the only thing holding Qrow up. They’d been at the party long enough that the press had cleared out, but the cars and limos were still queued up, waiting for their designated occupants to finish their celebration. The two made their way towards one of the limos, Qrow still moments from falling to pieces in Clover’s arms. When they got inside, Clover raised the privacy screen before he moved to pull Qrow on top of him, hugging him tight, much to Qrow’s surprise.

“I’ve got you, Qrow, I’ve got you.”

Those words were all Qrow needed to collapse onto Clover’s frame, and he cried, fully and unrestrained, as Clover held him steadfast. His body shook violently against Clover’s frame. He felt a hand come up to the back of his head, and an arm around his waist pulling him fully into Clover. As Qrow sobbed, he could faintly feel Clover trembling beneath him as the car sped away into the night.

“I’ve got you, baby bird, I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

* * *

That night at the hotel, Qrow fell asleep in Clover’s embrace.

The man whispered nothing but soft affirmations as a broken Qrow trembled beneath his fingertips.

After Qrow drifted to sleep, Clover brought his forehead to Qrow’s, noses brushing against each other.

And he wept in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here!! Thank you for reading chapter 9 of "An Affair of the Body and the Mind"! I hope you enjoyed it, or at least found it entertaining, even though it got a little dark at the end there. But hey, at least Qrow has Clover there! Thank you all for your continued support of the story! Your comments really motivate me to keep working on every chapter, and they really help me and make my heart so full to read each and every one of them. I'm someone who always very much appreciates feedback, because it lets me know what worked for you, what didn't, and what you'd like to see more of!
> 
> If you'd like to keep up to date with information on the story, you can follow me at my tumblr listed below! I post status updates and sneak peeks for the chapters as they come, as well as the link to this story every Friday morning on Tumblr (at about 8 AM PST). Comments, kudos, reblogs, shares, and likes are really really appreciated, as they really make my day. Writing and art both take a long time to produce, and authors appreciate the feedback just as much as artists! That doesn't just go for me, but all of your favorite Fair Game artists and authors! Let them know you enjoy their work, and I'll see you all next week for chapter 10, and the conclusion of the study abroad!
> 
> Love,  
> Jelly♥
> 
> Tumblr: https://smol--jelly.tumblr.com


	10. Bitter Confrontation and Sweet Liberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains mentions and some details of a previous abusive relationship. Please take care and protect yourselves while reading.

Every day, the two professors split the class the same way they had done the first day. Qrow still had his reservations about giving the students the free choice of instructor, but all of the days seemed pretty balanced. Some days had Qrow had more students, some days he had less. He noticed that the students were also paying remarkably closer attention to him, and he wondered if this had anything to do with their choice or if it was just a figment of his imagination. Qrow figured he’d also pay more attention if he chose to attend one lecture rather than being forced to listen to it.

Some students rotated between professors freely, but there were three that stuck with his teachings every day without fail. The first was Pyrrha. From what he could tell, Pyrrha had always been interested in the romanticism of literature, but more so as a reader instead of an actual writer. She sought to emulate the authors she so admired. Even if she had no intention of becoming a novelist, she still wanted to be able to write with the grace of one if the need ever rose, and more importantly to be able to express her own identity she kept hidden from the world.

Neptune was the second student who followed Qrow without fail. Another one of Clover’s students during the semester, the deceptively cocky young man paid close attention to every word Qrow spoke. He’d turned in some interesting works, though it was clear that he was also trying to work through his own internal dilemmas on the page. Qrow could relate, and he wished he could give the young man advice, but for now he’d have to stick with his lessons. Each session ended with Neptune saying how much he was looking forward to taking a full class with Qrow in the coming semester, so maybe Qrow would have time to support the young man yet.

Weiss was the last of the students who never switched professors. He wasn’t quite sure why she chose him every day when, up until the end of the semester, she’d shown a pretty apparent predisposition in Clover’s favor. Still, she tackled Qrow’s prose lessons with an intensity and passion that got Qrow’s attention. Her small pieces were a marriage of her poetic language and her narrative sense, and she had a knack for creating complex characters. Her plots were all well and good, but her settings could use a bit more work. She could use her poetic prowess to build a scene from scratch in a phenomenal manner but going back to the narrative caused shifts in her language that were still a little too jarring. Once she reached a balance, her work would definitely have a finesse and a refinement to it that was indicative of her efforts and natural talent. Still, it was incredibly apparent that Weiss Schnee wasted no words.

So, every day after breakfast, these three would approach Qrow, ready and eager to start the lesson. The students who picked Qrow for the day followed suit, but these three always led the pack. The classes would be split for the entirety of the morning. All exercises, teachings, and free writing were done as such. Sometimes Qrow had multiple lessons to deliver in a day, building off of one another, whereas other days were more freeform, giving students the opportunity to explore their own creativity in a place that would no doubt provide new influences for their work.

Of course, regular lectures will still boring at times, so Qrow found ways to spice them up. During one day where they were forced to stay inside due to a snowstorm, Qrow had the students play “snowball” as their exercise. He gave them each ten minutes to write the beginnings of a story, before crumpling the paper into a ball, and tossing them back and forth like an actual snowball fight. Whichever snowball they got hit with would be the story they’d have to continue. This process repeated several times over the span of two hours, until they all had some interesting stories.

Another one of his favorite lessons was the character-building lesson. Qrow had the students pair up and discuss two characters they’d each have in mind. What were their personalities? What did they look like? What did they do for fun? What were their strengths and weaknesses? Did they have obvious faults, or were they adept at hiding their lesser qualities? What were they known for?

Now what would it be like if those characters had or adopted a child?  
How would they turn out? What qualities would they inherit or rebel against? Which parent did they take after, or actively deny? What were their relationships like? Qrow often preached the importance of narrative weight of characters. In order for a character to be a character, they had to feel real in every sense. In this instance, while the child may have been the main character of the eventual story, the goal was to get the students to think about the parents and other background characters as more than just set pieces. The story may not be theirs, but they still have a story. It was important for his students to remember that.

Another day, he gave the students a free morning to do whatever they wished, as long as they produced results. Of course, everyone except for Weiss took well to that. She held back after he dismissed his half of the students and demanded him to give her a lesson. He told her that self-guidance and self-management were lessons in and of themselves, and that direction shouldn’t always be required from others. With a confused look on her face, he dismissed her and promptly went upstairs for a nap.

Not that he’d found himself tired too much anymore.

He’d actually been getting good sleep and he had no doubt that his rise in quality of sleep could be directly attributed to Clover.

Nighttime was especially rough for Qrow. Due to the fact that he was experiencing actual sleep instead of alcohol-induced blackouts as of recent, his dreams were coming back one by one. Since it had been so long since Qrow had regularly had dreams, the more realistic they were, the harder they were to discern from reality. At first it was pleasant. He had dreams of winning awards, of going on vacation with his family and friends, of well-deserved peace and quiet. He dreamt of meeting Clover when they were both in university as students, a thought which he wrote about with rapt attention the next day.

Would they have been passing faces, or would they have sat next to each other in lectures? Did they meet in a class or at a coffee shop between classes? Perhaps they were introduced to one another at a party, or maybe they bumped into each other while each tried to grab the only open table at a dining hall. Would they study together, or would the rest of Qrow’s ragtag ensemble of close friends be enough to scare him off? Would they casually pass time with one another, or if they were involved, would they go somewhere special on dates? Did they ever go to campus sporting events together, or would they take advantage of the quiet that blanketed campus outside of the stadiums on those days?

But dreams and nightmares often go hand in hand. He dreamt of losing his sister and his close friends. He dreamt of the day Clover would eventually confess to the mysterious beloved, and his subsequent desertion. After the events of the New Year party, Qrow dreamt of his relationship with Jimmy, but this time he was in a literal iron cage instead of a metaphorical one. He dreamt of the isolation and the neglect he used to endure. He dreamt of the time’s he’d be on the verge of leaving, only for Ironwood to say that he loved him, just to get him to stay or do something.

On nights of such nightmares, Qrow would wake up with puffy eyes, no doubt a result of crying in his sleep.

But he was not alone.

A few mornings, Qrow’s eyes would snap open, and tears would be rolling down his face. The first thing he realized was that he was being held. Sometimes he was being held tightly, pressed fully flush to the body next to him, the skin of his back against the bare chest of the man behind him. Sometimes he just had an arm draped over his waist, legs intertwined with his. Sometimes the arm ran up his torso, hand splayed across his chest. He’d take a few deep breaths, calming himself, and eventually relax against the body next to him in the bed.

If light was coming through the curtains, then he’d just feign sleep in the arms of Clover Ebi, relaxing in their gentle position in the early hours. If it was still nighttime, he’d drift back to sleep listening to the calm, rhythmic breaths of Clover at his side. If Qrow dared to move during those nights where he woke up during the witching hour, he’d feel Clover’s embrace around him tighten, as if securing and reassuring Qrow that he was alright.

On mornings or evenings when Qrow would jolt awake, Clover wouldn’t be far behind. After a particularly nasty dream about his old relationship, Qrow found comfort in Clover’s hold as he cried into Clover’s sturdy frame. Despite his whining, and despite his suffering, Clover never pried into the relationship. Qrow wondered if it was a lack of care for details, or if it was caution to avoid upsetting him. Regardless, Clover still made it clear that Qrow could tell him anything if need be, so it was probably the latter.

Ever since New Year’s, they had slept in the same bed every night.

Prior to then, they’d each enjoyed their sleep in their own space, with Qrow stretched out as far over the mattress as his body would allow him, but waking up to a cold, lonely bed. After the party, they shared the same space in case Qrow panicked in the dark in an unfamiliar place. Every night, they’d fall asleep side by side, staying to their own parts of the bed. Come morning, and the two were practically tied together.

On mornings where Qrow woke up first, he’d still find himself cradled within Clover’s whole being. He’d feigned sleep a time or two once Clover had woken up, and he’d noticed every time, Clover would gently disentangle himself from Qrow as he pretended to wake up. Perhaps he felt guilty for holding Qrow so intimately at night. Perhaps he just really missed having his beloved close by, so Qrow was a replacement, a temp.

God that thought really hurt Qrow.

On mornings where he genuinely woke up after Clover, he would wake to the subtle touches, like the hand on his hip, or the arm around his waist. But still, Clover was waiting in the bed for him, so they could start their day together. Or maybe it was because he just didn’t want to wake up Qrow, because gods know he needed the rest. Whatever the reason was, Qrow was silently grateful, because waking up to Clover Ebi wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Far from it.

Qrow liked being the one to experience it in the privacy of their own room, bittersweet as it may be, knowing that he’d lose all of this soon. All it would take is Clover making one confession, or Clover’s beloved doing the same, and Qrow would lose all of this. The thought terrified him, but he tabled it every time to think about at a later date, lest he risk becoming unstable because of Clover in front of the man himself.

On the morning of the last full day of the trip, Qrow found himself lamenting silently as he watched Clover climb out of the sheets and walk towards the bathroom. His eyes stealthily followed the yawning Clover who trudged towards what would no doubt be a welcoming shower, until he disappeared from view. Qrow groaned and rolled over, burying his face in Clover’s pillow.

He had no idea how he was going to be able to go back to living by himself after the few weeks he’d spent in Atlas with Clover. He’d have no one to hold him, no one to ease him into sleep, no one to comfort him should he wake up in the middle of the night with a panic attack. He’d be lonely in his apartment, with his unorganized stacks of books and his old mattress and his shitty bedsheets. Sure, he’d get one more night in bed with Clover before they departed, but they’d have to wake up very early in the morning for the flight home, so it didn’t count.

In the early hour of the last full day of the trip, Qrow Branwen sent up a prayer to the universe. The temple they’d built together during their trip, laid in waiting for his words. Their mixing colognes acting as the incense, the faint sounds of Clover whistling in the shower filling in for the music, and the spirit of desire crossing Qrow’s lips being the scripture. For the audience of none, Qrow asked to be able to sleep in Clover’s arms at least once more after departing Atlas. He didn’t want to go back to being by himself, and after the trip, he didn’t know how he’d be able to survive.

* * *

Daisy Ebi agreed to the idea several days ago.

Qrow had been stopping by frequently, and each visit had been in secret. Their lunchtime discussions were just as entertaining and fulfilling as the food was. Daisy Ebi was a master with a chef’s knife, and a witch with a baking book. Qrow proposed the idea of having the students present their final projects and writings in the café as a sort of private event, and Daisy happily started to prepare. She asked Qrow how many students would be attending, and what kind of sweets he think they would like. Qrow offered to pay to rent out the place, but Daisy refused. She said she owed it to the man keeping her company over the course of the trip to give him a proper sendoff, especially since her own son hadn’t brought him by yet.

As far as Clover was concerned, Qrow had never been to his mother’s place of business. Qrow had never seen the bookshelves, had never seen the well-worn piano, and had never seen what inspired his love of plants. Qrow had never tried any of his mother’s pastries, save for the cake he brought home for Christmas. Qrow had certainly not had several items on the menu, washing them down with different specialty drinks, ranging from sweet shakes to delicate teas and robust coffees.

Qrow Branwen was not a man who had spent many lunch times conversing with Daisy about Clover in his younger days, nor his present days. No, Qrow hadn’t talked with Daisy about how she and Clover used to take care of Weiss when she’d secretly sneak away from the Schnee Manor. They hadn’t discussed how Clover inspired her to write poetry, just like they didn’t talk about how Clover was an avid reader of Qrow’s ever since the very first book came out. They didn’t discuss Clover’s move to Beacon, and they certainly didn’t discuss how Clover originally lamented over Qrow’s stoic nature.

They hadn’t laughed over some of the things he did or talked in detail about their shared fondness for his kindness and appreciation for those around him. They hadn’t both openly been admirable about his caring nature, which was often borderline self-sacrificial. Daisy never asked Qrow about the events that Clover relayed to her about the New Year party, and Qrow didn’t explain to her the details behind his reactions. Qrow couldn’t say that Daisy made him feel like a son to her because of her nature which radiated warmth more than the sun did in the sky over Atlas on even the hottest summer day. Qrow would never admit that Daisy made him feel like he could tell her secrets he couldn’t tell his own sister. There was something about the Ebi family.

Qrow couldn’t say any of that, because as far as Clover was concerned, he’d never met Daisy. So, when the class made their way towards the shop on their last full day, a shop which had been closed for a “special event” to conclude the trip, it would be Qrow’s first time meeting Clover’s mother.

As the class stepped into the shop, they were welcomed by the kind face and open arms of an old woman, gesturing widely towards the whole café. Her hair was tied up in her regular bun, and her floral apron still had small stains on it here and there. She had a speck of flour on her cheek, and a mixing spoon with still-moist batter. No doubt she’d been in the middle of making a new round of treats when the door to the shop opened, and she dropped everything to immediately come out and greet them, as was customary for her.

Qrow had come to realize in those first few visits that Daisy Ebi made serious attempts to greet everyone who came in. She appreciated their business, and she wanted to know every face and name that came in. Every customer who’d been to the shop a few times knew to look for her, and they’d always wish her a goodbye when they’d finished their meals. She really made an effort to make her place something special, a utopia of sorts, an escape from the harsh outside, and the patrons reveled and relaxed in her world.

“Welcome to the Garden of Ebi!”

The students all stared wide-eyed at the interior of the café, much as Qrow had done his first visit. Daisy had pointed out the new plants she’d gotten since his arrival, which included some new succulents that she’d propagated shortly after Qrow’s initial visit, and after he’d mentioned that he may or may not very much enjoy succulent plants. They sat on the tops of some of the tables in rather ornate terrariums.

“I’m so glad to have you all here,” she continued. “I’m Mrs. Ebi, but you can call me Daisy. I’m Clover’s mother, and the owner of this little patch of green in the great white north we call Atlas!”

Some students returned the greeting with introductions of their own, while others just nodded.

“Take a seat, or feel free to explore! Mama Daisy’s gonna make you all something nice to celebrate the last day of your trip, and all of your hard work!”

One by one, the students chose seats at the tables. Qrow watched as Blake joined Weiss, Neptune, and Velvet at one of the tables. Pyrrha hesitated for a moment, looking towards the table with Weiss and Neptune before being pulled by the arm by Nora over towards a table with Jaune and Ren. After placing their belongings down, they started wandering all over the café.

Blake and Neptune walked over towards the shelves of books, taking pictures of the place as they traversed the interior. Yang and Sun returned to their respective homes shortly after New Year’s, which understandably caused a small downturn in their moods, but at least they had each other to chat with while they focused on their studies. Weiss pulled out her notebook, making some last-minute scratches in the margins, while a quizzical look flashed across her face. She held the book up to Velvet, who looked at it briefly before giving her a thumbs up and an enthusiastic smile.

Qrow smiled as he watched the students so excitedly explore the joint, but he was interrupted by Clover clearing his throat and placing a hand on the small of his back. Qrow focused up, and found himself being gently guided towards Daisy. He looked over at Clover, who pulled off his beanie cap and gestured towards the woman.

“Qrow, as she said, this is my mother, Daisy,” he said nervously, eyes darting between the two. “Mama, this is Qrow Branwen, from Beacon. He’s my coworker.”

Daisy did as she’d done so on the first day they met, and held her arms wide, asking for a hug from Qrow. He smiled warmly before obliging her, and stepping forward to give her a brief hug. The top of her head came just short of his chin, but her presence was still overwhelmingly large. After a few moments, they stepped apart, and Qrow found her looking up at him.

“Nice to finally meet you, Qrow. Can I call you Qrow?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Mama or Daisy is fine, dear,” she beamed. She glanced over at Clover for a split second, before he grin turned from sincere to wicked. “It’s nice to finally meet my baby boy’s idol in the flesh!”

“Mama!”

“You’d think after all of the stories he’s told me about you that he’d be willing to bring you to me first chance he gets, but no!” Daisy threw her arms above her head dramatically. “My little lucky charm had to go and hide you away from me! It’s almost like he’s ashamed of his mama!”

At this, she licked her thumb and went to wipe at Clover’s face, and he reflexively pulled away as the finger approached.

“Mama, please!”

“What? You’ve got a spot on your face. Can’t parade your idol around at your side if you’ve got a spot on your face,” she laughed. “Oh Qrow, my baby boy is such a fan of yours. Hardly does a book of yours come out before I get a call telling me to read it.”

“Mama…I’m begging you…”

“Oh hush, Clover, I’m only teasing,” she sighed. “Besides, the man deserves to know! My little man here would come back from a day working at the academy and be all in tatters, but your books would always brighten him right up. ‘Mama did you read this yet?’ he’d ask me. And the look on his face! ‘I wonder if I could write like he does,’ was something he used to say a lot.”

“I should never have brought you here,” Clover said turning away from both of them. He started walking towards the door, buttoning up his grey cardigan and tugging his beanie cap back over his head. “This was a total mistake.”

“And where do you think you’re going?” Daisy called after him.

“Anywhere but here,” Clover replied, turning back towards them before he opened the door straight into someone. “Oh, sorry I didn’t see…oh.”

Clover took a step back from the doorway as the man he’d hit stepped through the open door, his uniform just as white as the snow falling from the sky. He took a moment to brush stray snowflakes off of his shoulders before he wiped his boots on the welcome mat in the doorway. Immediately, Qrow balled his fists, and he took a few steps back from the door. The man looked around the shop, taking stock of all of the students examining the plants, books, and instruments. Some of the students were sitting at tables, scribbling in their journals, while the others were too busy taking pictures and chatting to notice him walk into the shop. As he took a few more steps, Clover quickly caught up and stood in between the man and Qrow.

“Quite the private event,” Ironwood said coldly.

“It’s invite-only,” Clover replied sternly.

“It’s alright, I know someone here,” the general said. He took a step to the side, and Clover quickly stepped into his path again. Qrow flinched, and he immediately felt a hand around his own, and another small hand around his arm, as Daisy Ebi held him reassuringly. She looked at him with worry, and he nodded to her before mouthing something to her.

_That’s him._

_I know_ , she mouthed back.

She stepped forward to join her son at his side. “Perhaps you didn’t hear my son, Jimmy, this is an invite-only event, and you’re not a plus one.”

“Good to see you too, Mrs. Ebi,” he nodded towards her, disregarding her words. “This will only take a moment.” He tried to step around her as well, but with a speed and energy to match her son, she also stepped into the path of Ironwood, not allowing him to pass by. She grabbed her son’s hand, and whether it was for her own support or his was unclear. “Really now, you retired long ago, ma’am, and I outrank you now.”

“You might now, but you didn’t back then, Private Jimmy,” she sassed him. “Always sucking up to your superiors instead of supplementing relationships with your own squad. How’s the view from the table now that you’re no longer the one on the front lines?”

“Just as you described it, ma’am, but unlike you, I know what decisions to make.”

“Clearly you don’t,” she nearly spat, “if you’re coming to a place, uninvited, with the intention of threatening someone under this roof.”

“I’m not here to threaten,” James stood up straighter, fixing his tie. “I’m here to clarify something. So please step aside, so I can attend to my business.”

“Business, huh?” Clover cut in this time. “So, he’s not even a person to you? Just another item on your agenda?”

“You have no idea what he is to me,” James said, voice and look thinly disguising anger. “It’s as you said in the papers: ‘what our relationship is doesn’t matter to anyone who isn’t a part of it.’”

“Papers?”

“You didn’t see? The two of you at the New Year’s party made the news,” Ironwood smirked. “You really shouldn’t be so careless.”

“Oh screw you,” Qrow said quietly enough for the students to not hear, but loud enough for Ironwood to pick them up. His anger was overflowing, seeping into every word, every motion, everything. He stepped up right behind Clover and Daisy, and looked Ironwood straight in the eyes. “You don’t get to use his words and then insult him. In fact, you don’t get to use his words, period. Get them out of your mouth.”

“Ah, he finally speaks,” Ironwood said. “Charming as always Qrow, good to see you’ve changed so much over these past few years.”

“And you haven’t changed one bit, iron heart,” Qrow snarled. “Why can’t you just leave me be for once? And how did you even know where to find me?”

“One of my operatives mentioned you’d be here. Something about her sister having an ‘end of study abroad party’ of sorts,” he shrugged. “I figured I’d give it another shot to see if New Year’s was just a fluke, but since you seem so highly defensive of Mr. Ebi here, I’d say your true colors are shining now.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I always knew you’d betray me eventually.”

The color faded from Qrow’s vision, and returning just as quickly, everything tinted red. Who the fuck was he to say Qrow betrayed him? Qrow would always do everything James asked, he gave, and gave, and gave, until he had nothing left to give. And then James took, and took, and took, and Qrow couldn’t do it anymore. Qrow had blindly trusted James from the moment they started dating in secret, and that had proven to be the biggest mistake he could have made. By the time the damage was done, Qrow had trouble looking in the mirror. After being treated as less than for so long, he didn’t even know how to be anything else. He’d twisted Qrow’s sense of self and self-worth over the course of their relationship to the point where Qrow needed at least a year of therapy before he could finally come to accept even the smallest of compliments, which he still struggled with.

He isolated Qrow from his family and friends, from the outside world, and truly made him to believe that he was the only one who knew what was best for Qrow, and who could take care of Qrow.

Qrow? Betray him?

No.

No fuck that.

If anything, this wasn’t betrayal.

Qrow took a step and opened his mouth again before Daisy held up a hand in front of him. All three men looked at her in a slight surprise, their faces quickly twisting from a range of different emotions to curiosity at the older woman.

“Jimmy, with all due respect, get the fuck out of my shop.”

“Wh-”

“If you think I’m going to stand idly by while you hurt this poor, innocent man anymore, you’re mistaken,” Daisy continued, her friendly face falling away, advancing one step towards the general. “You’re a bully. A thug. A power-hungry monster who knows how to wear the disguise better than the rest of them. Mr. Branwen here has done nothing to deserve your treatment, which after hearing about extensively is most definitely abusive.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ironwood said, taking a step back. He took the glove off of his hand and held it in front of his chest. “I loved him.”

“No, you didn’t,” Clover stepped in. “You coveted him. You saw what he was capable of, and his status, and suddenly he was another trophy you wanted, more bars to pin on your uniform. You never thought about him in any other way.”

“Like you know any different,” Ironwood snapped back. “You put him on a pedestal higher than I ever did. Gods knew you wouldn’t shut up about him until after I read one of his books because you wouldn’t stop annoying me. Even after that, you still wouldn’t shut up about him. You never have.”

“At least I actually…care about him,” Clover started. “Yeah, I was a fan of his. But once I got to know him, and I saw how lonely he was on the pedestal, I knew he didn’t need a fan. He needed someone to care for him, about him, and look out for him, status be damned.”

“Clover…”

“And another thing,” Clover continued, “if you actually did love him, you wouldn’t come and surprise him at work after your little stunt at the party visibly upset him and dug up the trauma you’d inflicted on him.”

Ironwood looked from Clover to Daisy, and from Daisy finally to Qrow, before his head dropped. His shoulders started shaking a little, before a deep laugh came out from the man, nothing loud, but it iced Qrow over when it used to warm him up once upon a time. “They’ve really got you fooled, don’t they?” Ironwood said. “It’s like I told you. People like this lie to you to get close to you, but at least I’m always blunt. You know with me that what you see and hear is what you get. They’re going to hurt you, and it won’t be long before you come running back to me, telling me I was right.”

“I’ll never come back to you,” Qrow said. “Never. I don’t ever want to live like that again. You didn’t love me, you didn’t even think of me as me…I…I can’t go back to that. You’re a liar.”

“Did you ever stop to think about why I haven’t had any lovers since you betrayed me?” Ironwood asked coldly. “Think about that for a moment.”

“Because none of them were convenient enough for you, and you couldn’t twist any of them like you could Qrow,” Clover hissed. “But he’s stronger than that. He’s outgrown you, and you don’t have any power over him.”

“You son of a-”

“Bitch, who is right here,” Daisy said, taking another step towards Ironwood. “I will say this once more: Get. Out. Of. My. Shop. This is your last chance, Jimmy, or do I need to remind you of why your squadron called me the Steel Flower?”

“No ma’am,” Ironwood said after a moment’s hesitation. He walked back towards the door to the shop and threw it open. He turned his head back one last time. “Message received, loud and clear. Don’t drunk call me again when your latest lover throws you for a loop, whoever they may be.”

“He won’t ever drunk call you again, since you’re not there to make him feel like he has to drink away the pain.”

Clover and Daisy both slipped their arms around Qrow in solidarity. He’d clearly gone through hell with James, and they’d be damned if they’d let the general get to him again. Qrow looked at Daisy, who nodded back to him and squeezed his wrist. His head turned and he looked up at Clover, who’s expression was full of worry as he examined Qrow. Qrow gave him a faint smile, before turning one last time to face James.

He pulled out his phone, and flipped through his contacts to find the general himself, and held up the screen in a way that his ex would be able to see it. He made a show of blocking the number, and then deleting the contact outright.

“Goodbye, James. Have a nice life.”

General Ironwood tugged his glove back on, and grimaced. He walked out the door without another word, past the glass storefront, and swiftly out of view, which was Qrow’s signal to collapse into the arms of the Ebi family.

“We’ve got you, Qrow.”

“That’s right, baby bird, I’m so proud of you.”

Qrow felt tears coming to his eyes, but he blinked them away. Ironwood wouldn’t make him cry anymore. This wasn’t something to be sad over anyways.

He was free.

He was finally free.

Sure, there was still a long way to go in his healing process. He’d been making more and more efforts to get better ever since their initial separation, but now that he’d finally had the chance to get some semblance of closure, to really show James how he felt, to show him that he was capable of moving forward without him. Qrow was just glad that he had Clover and Daisy there for the support.

Speaking of the Ebi mother-son duo, they were both whispering things to Qrow that he couldn’t quite make out in his rush of emotions as they led him over to one of the tables. Qrow sat down in one of the booths, and Clover sat right next to him, pulling him into a tight embrace, while Daisy made her way back towards the kitchen.

“You did so well, Qrow,” Clover said into his ear, as Qrow returned the hug.

“I couldn’t have been standing there without you,” Qrow replied. He started laughing. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t figure out what he was feeling except for overstimulated and overwhelmed by too many things at once. So he laughed. Qrow leaned into Clover and laughed, who laughed with him as they sat in the booth. Qrow looked up and Clover, and saw a tear rolling down his face, and wiped it away.

“That’s not fair, I’m the one who should be crying,” Qrow teased. “Or are you still upset that your mom embarrassed you in front of me?”

“What? I don’t remember a single thing she said,” Clover suddenly sat straight up and bolted away from Qrow, looking all over the shop except in his direction. “She didn’t say anything!”

“Whatever you say, little lucky charm.”

The rest of the party went smoothly. After Qrow had visibly calmed down, Clover left him to go help his mother back in the kitchen. The students started playing games here and there while the shop owner and their professor put the finishing touches on the food, before serving it up to the eager students. There were savory foods and sweet pastries, aromatic teas and decorative coffees, laughter amongst the students and total relief in the body and mind of Qrow Branwen.

As the students made their way back to their seats, it was time for the main event to begin. Qrow and Clover put all of their names into a bowl, and one by one they would draw names of performers. Each person was required to share two of the pieces that they completed during their time on the trip. If they had prose and poetry pieces completed, it was preferred that they share one of both, but there was no pressure to do so if they favored two particular poems or two particular prose pieces.

After each performer, the floor was open to comments from the peanut gallery, and to everyone’s relief, the comments were overwhelmingly supporting. They ranged depending on the presenter, but they usually fell within the lines of wanting to see more, or proposing future add-ons to particular stories if someone said they had the intention of developing their project further.

As Blake presented two poems, Qrow couldn’t help but be proud at how much she’d stepped out of her comfort zone over the course of the last couple of months. He remembered her original aversion to poetry, so he was glad that she took the time to actually experiment and grow her own personal style. He was also glad to see that she’d made more friends on the study abroad. He knew that she was dating his niece, but often times before and after class, he’d seen her buried in a book instead of chatting with others. Seeing her laugh and celebrate with the others really made Qrow feel happy for the young woman.

Weiss presented one of her prose pieces. It took Qrow a moment to realize that it was prose, in spite of her flowery language. He’d still not grown fully accustomed to her writing style, as polished as it was getting, and as much as it had evolved over the month. Still, when she concluded her first piece, she curtseyed in front of everyone, and then nodded at Qrow, a grin on her face. Her second piece was a song, and while Qrow was listening more to the melody than the words, the students seemed to be brought nearly to tears at her words. The melody was haunting enough, but he’d have to ask to see those lyrics another time.

As the evening continued, performer after performer graced the mic with their presence, each bringing a different flair or grace. Students like Nora and Jaune were more boisterous and involved the crowd in their performances. Velvet and Pyrrha’s felt more personal, as they tried to connect on a deeper level with the audience. Their prose felt very solemn, but still captivating at the same time. Qrow was also quite struck with Neptune’s prose, which was carefully crafted, and heavily metaphoric. While he wasn’t sure if he had all of the knowledge to decipher the man’s work, he was sure there was some heavy subtext to be found between the lines.

Eventually, they reached the last performer in Ren. His poetry was delicate, and he read it slowly, yet in a way that flowed as naturally as water down a stream. Neither of the poems were lengthy by any means, but the natural beauty within their subject matter paid homage to their location and inspiration in such a profound fashion, that everyone seemed impressed. By this point, it had been a few hours, and before the idle chatter resumed, Weiss stood up.

“Professor Branwen, Professor Ebi, you two should perform!”

Qrow blanched, and suddenly all of the students looked at the two of them, cheering them on. Qrow looked at Clover, who gave his arm a reassuring pat, and nodded.

“You first, Qrow.”

“I didn’t bring any of my work,” Qrow replied.

“Lucky for you, I did,” Clover smirked, and he reached into his backpack before pulling out Qrow’s Christmas gift to him. “Just…don’t read past your poem. Can’t expose my works in progress.”

Qrow groaned, and made his way up on stage, encouraged by the cheers of the students. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This had been embarrassing enough to perform in front of Clover the first time, but Qrow attempted to recreate his performance of “Four Leaf” with the disclaimer that he was still a novice at poetry. When he finished, the audience whooped and hollered for their professor, and he felt his sense of pride rising in his chest. He began to walk back towards his seat, and Clover was already up, hand extended.

Qrow gave the notebook back to him, and Clover clapped him on the shoulder before pulling him in. “I think I preferred it in the park, but that was still great.”

“I can tear out those pages if you’d like.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Clover laughed. “This was a gift from a dear friend of mine, and I’m not going to let someone trash it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a performance to give.”

Qrow rolled his eyes and took his seat back in the booth, his eyes trained on Clover. The man flipped through the pages of his notebook as if he were looking for something specifically. He paused, flipped through a few more pages, and then found what he was looking for. He adjusted the mic, tapping it twice lightly before speaking into it.

“This poem was originally a letter,” he said. “I’ve been workshopping this for a while, but I think I’ve finally got it.”

When he started speaking, Qrow was stunned.

> “I think I  
>  made the right  
>  choice.  
>  I’m sorry if in any way my words  
>  stung and my actions tore at your  
>  essence in the midst  
>  of those times. But  
>  now it hurts to think about  
>  the time you said you  
>  wished you  
>  could  
>  love  
>  me.
> 
> Evenings now are spent lying  
>  awake, and pondering what you said  
>  that made me  
>  feel like  
>  less  
>  of a person than everyone  
>  else, but simultaneously so much  
>  more.
> 
> Early days, those early days I  
>  long for, but now they’re suspended in  
>  my ice.  
>  Just once I’d like to return and  
>  stop myself so that you’d be  
>  happy.
> 
> And yet you were the cruelest  
>  not only by word but by actions.
> 
> From the ground  
>  I can see  
>  you  
>  flying high above  
>  me  
>  where I cannot save  
>  you.
> 
> Prithee  
>  answer my call  
>  before the hunter  
>  arrives  
>  to lock you away,  
>  for what am  
>  I  
>  without  
>  you?
> 
> You  
>  damned my being to  
>  your finger, ever wrapped  
>  around it.
> 
> Maybe I’m just  
>  a fool who  
>  deserves it.
> 
> Just lying in wait, praying  
>  one day for your blessed  
>  ether to overtake me  
>  completely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here! Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for reading chapter 10!! We've finally finished the study abroad arc, but the story is far from over!! Clover wrote the poem?? Whaaaaaaat???? Also, I'm not one to normally insert my own OCs into the story, but I do love Mama Daisy with all my heart, and I hope you do too!!
> 
> Thank you so so so much for your continued support of "An Affair of the Body and the Mind"! Every time I see a new comment or message it really makes me feel so insanely happy that I can continue to make content you enjoy! Any feedback at all is welcomed, but seriously your comments and messages for me are really encouraging (and yes, I do read the tags on the links y'all reblog and they make me so giddy)!
> 
> Due to my insane work schedule, I was unable to post a sneak peek or finalize until right down to the wire this week, but you can follow me at my tumblr down below for status updates, sneak peeks, and links to the story after it goes live. Please please please be sure to leave a comment, share the link, leave a kudos, or something to let me know what you thought of the chapter! I love you all, and I'll see you for the next chapter!
> 
> All my love,  
> Jelly ♥
> 
> Tumblr: http://smol--jelly.tumblr.com


	11. Self Hatred and Beloved Adoration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains adult content, and is not intended for minors. Please do not read unless you are a consenting adult.

“So, what did you think?”

That was the question Clover asked him after the performance. At the time, Qrow didn’t know what to say. Amidst the confusion in his mind, any attempt to decipher the poem wouldn’t have ended well. Sure, he’d learned some nuances to the genre since he’d been having more and more discussions with his colleague, but in the moment, Qrow was unable to come up with any answer.

In their trek back to the hotel, Qrow’s mind was swimming with questions, drowning out all of the noise and ambient chatter from the students. The final day in Atlas hadn’t been one that he could’ve remotely predicted. The run-in with James, having to perform what was supposed to be a secret work in front of a small crowd, and then having to listen to Clover’s, not Blake’s, poem…it was a little much for Qrow. That night in the hotel, the packing was done in silence. Maybe a few comments here or there from Clover, but Qrow was still miles away, emotionally and physically exhausted as the events of the day truly caught up with him. As they settled into bed, Qrow found sleep quickly, but his anxious mind soon roused him in the middle of the night.

His faculties kicked in one by one, the first of which was his hearing.

Breathing. Lilting, rhythmic, puffs came from beside him in the bed, as if setting a time signature for the rest of the symphony of sounds around him. Subtle shifts of legs and weight were accompanied by the dulcet tones of skin on silken sheets. Every now and then, Clover would provide hushed, incomprehensible lyrics with his typical sleep-laden mumbles. Had Qrow the courage, one of these days he’d ask about the inspiration for the libretti for Clover’s slumbering operettas. Their tone was fragile, yet serene as the expression of the anima made manifest on his lips. Clover’s hymn lost to the world outside his mind.

Next came touch.

As was true with their previous nights in the hotel, Qrow could feel Clover’s comforting presence as their bodies were drawn together for the last night. He felt a bare arm over his shoulder, draped across his back, securing him in his position. He felt another hand near his waist, fingers coming to rest on his lower back, while the palm cupped his hip softly. Some time in his sleep, Qrow had rolled over and had taken to using Clover’s chest and shoulder as a replacement pillow. Qrow’s left hand was open, fingers splayed as the palm felt the subtle rise and fall of Clover’s chest with each breath. He no longer only heard the metronome of Clover’s exhaling, but also felt the beat of his heart. Qrow focused on it for a moment and allowed the comfort it brought him to wash over him completely.

He opened his eyes.

In the dreamlike illumination of the moon, Qrow examined Clover’s features. Even in sleep, Qrow could see the tension in his face, though every time Clover murmured, the tension seemed to subside, and give way for a soft smile. The smile sparked within Qrow a compulsion which he could not ignore. He looked down at his own right hand, the back of which was resting below Clover’s navel, the rest of their bodies below the waist were obscured from view by the sheets. As he began moving it upward, his eyes took in the expanse that was Clover’s bare torso. His fingers brushed against the canvas, as if writing their message to the subject in invisible ink, painting him with an invisible soul of what was surely a fleeting dream, and an unrequited love.

He took in Clover’s features, mapping them out with his eyes and his digits as he went, as though he were a cartographer charting new territory. Qrow’s fingers danced in a way so as to not rouse the man whom he was currently reclined against, as they made their way over his Adam’s apple. Once they hit the jaw, he traced it upwards until he could no longer continue without daring to place his hand between head and pillow. He withdrew it, before moving upwards to brush a few stray hairs back into place. Whether it was a trick of the light or his mind in the middle of the night, Qrow noted the beginnings of grey in the otherwise darkened caramel-colored hair. Save for the hint of bags under his eyes, Clover’s porcelain-like skin only served to enhance his beauty in the lunar glow. Qrow had found the man handsome before, but this was something more. This was something he felt lucky to be able to experience.

As Qrow breathed in deeply, Clover’s essence threatened to overtake him. It wasn’t the same smokiness and faint oaken scent he was used to. No, Clover had forgotten his own cologne at home, so he’d taken to borrowing Qrow’s scents and washes over the course of their stay. The delicate aroma of lavender mixed with something unplaceable, something unapologetically Clover, but Qrow couldn’t describe it. While normally he’d have been thrilled to have Clover smell like him, in the aftermath of the day, Qrow felt something within him threaten to break as the fragrance teased him.

What did he think?

Clover had asked him.

In the suite, in the middle of the night, all Qrow could think about was holding on. He nestled up as close as he could without stirring his bedmate. The hand that had started idly tracing circles on Clover’s chest travelled downward. Qrow laid his arm over Clover’s abdomen, and with the hand now around his side, he embraced Clover in such a way that elicited a physical reaction from him. Clover pulled him in to that familiar, secure position, bodies flush against one another, and in his arms, Qrow nested.

His head was a hellish storm, each comment or idea tormenting him with a thousand possibilities, each more heartbreaking than the last. But here, in the world of the physical senses, Clover was a safe harbor from the tempest. Qrow let himself focus on nothing other than Clover. Amidst the chaos of the past few weeks, he’d been truly glad to have the man by his side, and the run in at Daisy’s café had been no different. Clover had stepped in between Qrow and Ironwood without hesitation. Their exchange had been an intriguing one, but nonetheless, Qrow was glad he’d had Clover there for support.

He had a way of making Qrow feel not only wanted, but sometimes needed, like he was worth something. Instead of a plaything to be discarded after use, Clover made him feel as though he were something to be protected, to be valued, to be taken care of. Sure, his friends and family made him feel like that at times as well, but this was again something so uniquely Clover. Like vines growing on an old building, Clover had a unique talent for working his way into the cracks in the walls Qrow put up. Together, they were something new, something beautiful, something bittersweet, and before long, the walls started to come down, one by one. It was exhilarating.

Eye-opening.

Fascinating.

And terrifying.

All at once.

Though their relationship was not without its dangers. Each of Clover’s actions added something each time. It was subtle at first, something Qrow hadn’t noticed. But with time, the pile grew. Before long, Clover’s hand had piled the gunpowder large enough to blast through the door behind which Qrow kept his most secret of secrets. After years of hiding who he was to Ironwood away from the world, Qrow wasn’t sure he’d have the stamina to let things build up for much longer. He had no idea when the explosion would happen, but the barrel was near empty, and the match was being lit. Qrow always did have a flair for the dramatic.

Or perhaps this time would be different. Like the flames beneath a teakettle, Clover’s words and actions warmed him completely and totally into something more. But eventually, the kettle would no doubt whistle, and then what would happen? With any speck of luck, he’d have a guiding hand and an open cup, waiting for Qrow in a controlled pour. He’d be able to explain himself rationally, calmly, thoroughly, or at least to the best of his abilities. But what about the cup? With milk or honey, perhaps their mutual friendship could still be enjoyable. Or maybe he’d be left to sit, chilling alone and forgotten, out of sight and out of mind.

Qrow had originally thought that knowing about the existence of someone Clover referred to as “beloved” would give him an advantage in a way, but he’d long since forgotten what that potential advantage could have been. Nowadays, it was nothing but a source of grief for him, knowing full well that each of his conscious choices to get closer to Clover and to endear himself to him would ultimately be fruitless, as he’d be left for someone he didn’t know. But in the bed, curled up against _his_ beloved, Qrow stopped to give rise to a different thought for the first time.

So far, the man had done nothing but give and give, and Qrow took everything that was available. He’d tried to give in return, but he didn’t know what he could do. Sure, he took care of him the one time he was sick, but that was just because Qrow was reciprocating the care he’d received prior. He’d given him the notebook and the poem, but that was nothing compared to the emotional support that Clover had given him over the course of the past several months. Everything he did seemed to fall flat of what would be enough to Clover.

The only thing he was probably doing was making Clover confused. Sure, Qrow wasn’t the best at flirting, but perhaps the reason why he hadn’t heard about any breaks in the “beloved” front was because of Qrow himself. Was Clover’s beloved a jealous person? What would they think if they heard that Clover was hanging around with an allegedly famous author? What would they do if they caught Clover out and about, hanging around with Qrow, one-on-one? Qrow could understand causes for concern, given his apparent attitude towards Clover. Frankly, he didn’t think he had a leg to stand on here. If he were Clover’s beloved, he knew that he wouldn’t want Clover hanging around someone like him.

While Clover seemed a paragon of virtue and good intention, Qrow had been nothing but the exact opposite for a vast majority of his life. Clover’s apartment was well-kept, whereas Qrow’s always looked as though a bomb had just gone off. Clover was a whiz in the kitchen, making a vast array of foods and desserts for anyone to enjoy, regardless of their tastes. Qrow had old delivery containers everywhere, creeping into his personal space sometimes until he eventually would give up and throw them out.

Clover liked to stay in and do things by himself on weekend nights. Qrow learned he’d have the occasional dinner or two, but most nights Clover was just looking for a new book to read before settling down for bed. Qrow on the other hand, used to frequent the bars in Beacon so much that they knew him by name, drink order, and drink limit at this point. He’d stumble around in a drunken stupor, looking for someone to hook up with or just looking for another glass, anything to get him out of his mind for a while, though neither was a permanent solution.

With Clover’s assistance, he’d cut back, and almost completely excised his formerly dangerous lifestyle, though its aftereffects lingered. A result of his choices, his experiences, and his failed hopes, Qrow was definitely not the kind of person he’d want Clover to hang around if they were dating. He was too unpredictable, and as much as he didn’t want to think about it, there were no guarantees that he’d be able to hide his feelings for long. He could end up causing nothing but turbulence for Clover both at home and in the workplace, and he’d no doubt draw the ire of Clover’s beloved. Whoever they were might spend all day worried about the coworker who confessed and have to affirm his affection to Clover at night, which would undoubtedly wear them both down in the worst of ways. At least the beloved would have the letters Clover wrote as a sign of his deep affection.

_Wait._

_Letters._

_The beloved letters._

_Was his poem one of them?_

The rest of the night afforded him no sleep once the thought crossed his mind. It started as a fleeting thought, but one that he just so happened to catch before it hit the ground. The seedling of a thought flourished and grew, until Qrow could practically see the twisting branches in the canopy the thought had become.

The poem could possibly be a beloved letter?

Qrow didn’t know what to think.

He thought back to the first time he heard the poem, back when he was sick. He remembered the way it was read then, sorrowful and hollow, rocking him to his very core. He remembered the empty feeling he had of sadness and lament, but he remembered directing those feelings towards Blake. He felt sorry for the girl who had apparently written such a piece but passed by so normally every class day.

He remembered toiling over it, day and night, worrying about his niece’s girlfriend. Was she in trouble? Did she need help? Did Yang know about it? Just how deep did these scars run? Qrow couldn’t help but focus his worry, and he had to admit he noticed a slight change in the way he interacted with her after Clover read the poem. It was like walking on eggshells around her, waiting with bated breath for her to say something, or to confess to the things she’d endured at the hands of someone who inspired such a work.

But the day never came.

Even when asked directly about it, Blake never said anything.

And now he knew the reason why.

But comparing the reading at the café to the reading before Thanksgiving, this one seemed different. Sure, a majority of the poem was still sorrowful, but Clover’s inflection was different. When the poem was attributed to Blake, Qrow assumed that it had been something in her past to influence the tone. Now that he knew Clover was the author, the melancholy was a different shade. However, unlike the previous reading, there were still hopeful tones in his voice at parts. When Qrow factored in the possibility of it being something dedicated to Clover’s beloved, it made him want to scream.

Lines of the poem flashed in his mind, and without the codex to decipher it, Qrow felt as though he was grasping at straws.

> “But  
> now it hurts to think about  
> the time you said you  
> wished you could  
> love  
> me.”

One of the original lines, but it still sounded just as painful in the café as it had the first time. This was still something that Clover held at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps his love was unrequited? Qrow’s hope grew at the thought, but he also felt the despair that Clover probably did. Gods knew if Clover said something like that to him, he’d be devastated. Qrow had seen a lot of heartbreak in his day, but if Clover was the one doing it, he knew he’d never be able to recover at this point. If Clover knew, if only Qrow was strong enough to be able to call out to him. Qrow knew he could be no replacement, but he would make sure that Clover knew he was loved, that he was needed, that he was so much more than a petty rejection.

> “You  
> damned my being to  
> your finger, ever wrapped  
> around it.
> 
> Maybe I’m just  
> a fool who  
> deserves it.”

The first time Clover read these lines, there was still sadness weighing down the words. They tugged at Qrow’s heartstrings as the defeatism of the simple stanzas was apparent. The poet had all but surrendered the power to the other party, and it was not a voluntary surrender. Qrow was able to resonate with those lines the first time, as if it was a mantra he’d repeated to himself for years. He could identify with being used, and he could more than identify with being the scapegoat in the situation.

But in the café, they had transformed. The stanza was completely different in tone and taste. What once felt like a desperate attempt to locate the blame in woeful desolation now sounded like a humorous epiphany, and something to celebrate. Clover’s face when he read the lines this time was bright, and he was…as far as Qrow could tell…laughing. He was laughing as he uttered each syllable, and Qrow could feel it as his genuine, warm-hearted laugh, instead of a fake one done for the sake of the performance.

All urgency and agency the closing stanzas had before were flipped, as though the two performances were two sides of the same coin. No, Clover wasn’t giving up at the end anymore. He wasn’t waving a white flag, offering concessions when he had nothing else to give. Instead he sounded almost elated. There was hope, there was a twinkling in his eyes as he read the poem this time, and he could pinpoint the tonal change to the two new stanzas.

Qrow couldn’t quite remember them, but he remembered the images that flashed in his mind. He saw a young man, looking towards the sky, with a twinge of hope, but an undercurrent of confidence that his beloved would come to him. Clover wanted to protect someone, not to lock them away, but despite being spurned, he still wished to love this person…why? What could they have possibly done to merit such a dedication? If Qrow knew someone like the beloved in the poem, he would have cut them off at the pass.

But Clover wasn’t Qrow. He was patient, he was kind, and had a heart that exuded love like the confidence he so boldly wore. Even when Qrow was at his worst, dealing with the unexpected resurfacing of old flames, Clover had taken his side without question. He’d owe him an explanation at a later date. When Qrow shambled into Clover’s apartment, drop-dead exhausted after finals week, Clover welcomed him with open arms. When he was sick, Clover didn’t hesitate to drop everything and come assist Qrow. Back during their movie night, Clover jumped right in to help out with kids coming to the door for trick-or-treating while Qrow worked on their paperwork.

He was someone who truly cared about those around him, and he proved it with every action. Qrow couldn’t even fathom someone Clover loved being so indifferent to his confession and his devotion. But Qrow knew, he would find a way in between the gaps in the armor of the heart. If this beloved truly didn’t return his affection at first, it would probably only be a matter of time until they eventually fell for Clover, and Qrow would be damned if he stepped in to ruin that potential future for Clover.

But so help him, if this beloved remotely thought about breaking Clover’s heart, he would have to meet them and exchange words. As a novelist, he already had a lot on deck he wanted to say, but maybe he’d do so as a best man for a wedding toast.

“Don’t forget.”

“What?”

Ever since the thought originally came to Qrow, he’d practically gone into a different autopilot mode, as he realized. Qrow had tunneled so hard that he’d not paid a smidgen of attention to his surroundings and actions, as he was now surprised to find himself standing outside the airport back by Beacon. He was vaguely aware of going to the airport and boarding the flight, but it seemed like the flight landed just as soon as it took off. Qrow remembered writing something down in his notebook at some point, only to tear it out and begin his mental reexamination of the piece once more. It went without saying that Qrow was a bit shocked to see Clover get into the back of a rideshare, when he had hardly acknowledged the journey home, as the physical world was vastly less occupying than Qrow’s inner turmoil for the past many hours.

“Text me what you want me to bring, or I’ll come up with something on my own,” Clover continued, as if that would shine a light on what Qrow wasn’t supposed to forget.

“What?” Qrow repeated.

After a wave, Clover tucked his head in, and the car sped off, leaving Qrow in the terminal, speechless.

* * *

Qrow knew that his apartment would offer relief. When he stepped into the door to the familiar abode, he was finally alone for the first time in weeks. There were a hundred and one things he would have been happy to do in seclusion before. He didn’t have any students asking him questions about their assignments. He didn’t have to give directions to places he vaguely remembered. He didn’t have to answer to a schedule, at least until the semester started.

As Qrow unpacked his suitcase, he made careful to throw his dirty clothes in the hamper, instead of just overturning the case as he was known to do. Item by item, he separated the dirty clothes from those which were still clean and refolded the clean ones to put them back in their place. Man, his place really was a bit of a mess.

As he was already doing so to some degree, Qrow decided to clean.

Sure, he’d just been on a long flight, but Qrow remembered hearing somewhere that one of the best ways to adjust to jetlag was to try to immediately go to bed at your normal time, as opposed to easing into it. He couldn’t remember where he’d heard that, or if it was true, but still, by the time he got home, it was only 2 P.M. Even though the flight was long, and the time zone difference was vast, their arrival still put them right in the middle of the day, despite the fact that they’d taken one of the first flights out of Atlas.

But that meant he still had a great many hours before he had bed, so he could at least tidy up the place. Room by room he went, starting with his bedroom. He picked up all of the loose articles of clothing strewn over the floor and put them in the hamper. Qrow then took his dirty clothes and started the first round of laundry, and he stripped the bed of his sheets, intending to wash those as well. There were a few misplaced books that had made their way into Qrow’s room, as well as several glasses left on his bedside tables, though the clearness of them indicated that they were probably used for water. He picked up what he could, and slowly but surely, his room was becoming livable.

From the bedroom, he moved to the kitchen, since he remembered Clover giving him constant grief about the state of his kitchen. Qrow put the glasses in the dishwasher, washed everything that was still in the sink, some of which had to be scrubbed twice. He then started cleaning out his fridge of old delivery boxes. Underneath the sink, Qrow found some cleaning supplies that he was sure weren’t his, and he wiped down the counters before he decided to take out the trash.

Laundry moved from washer to dryer, and he started another load as he moved to the living space. Qrow couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d been this energized or this motivated to clean his apartment. Over the years, he’d been more than content to just live and let live, but for some reason he just couldn’t let things sit out as they were anymore. He felt light on his feet as he busted out the vacuum which he hadn’t used since he bought it. To the loud and discordant sounds of the device rolling around, sucking up dirt and anything else in its path, Qrow danced through the apartment as he completed his tasks one after another.

By the time he put his bedsheets in the dryer, his apartment had become much cleaner than it was, to the point where one would be hard-pressed to even call it Qrow’s apartment. You could see every bit of the floor, there weren’t any miscellaneous dishes or pieces of trash sitting around anywhere, and his books were all in the shelf. They weren’t exactly in order like Mr. Perfect’s were, but hey, it was a start. Qrow flopped down on the couch, exhausted from the busy day of travel and cleaning, and it was then that it really kicked in how alone he was.

Sure, there were no students here to seek out his guidance, and no assignments to come up with, but there was also no Clover.

Clover wasn’t there to talk to him about the day’s sights, sounds, and seminars. He wasn’t there to go on about how exciting the work was, or how crazy it was being back home. He wasn’t there to regale him with stories from before his years at Beacon. Clover wasn’t there to make sure that he was eating instead of writing or spacing out. Clover wasn’t there to fill the silence, not just in word, but with his presence as well. At least if they had nothing to talk about, they could sit comfortably with one another and enjoy the other’s company…or at least Qrow knew that he felt that way about Clover.

Clover wasn’t there to make sarcastic comments about Qrow’s word choice in responses to random questions, nor was he there to tease him as he got ready for evening dinners with new outfits. Clover wasn’t there to make sure Qrow wasn’t getting into any trouble. He wasn’t there to watch bad television or nostalgic movies with as they chatted about their interests in the late afternoon hours. A twinge of concern rose in Qrow when he realized that Clover wouldn’t be there at night to help him wind down, or to anchor himself if he jolted awake during the witching hours.

In the lonely apartment, Qrow found himself looking at a Clover-shaped hole. He could clearly picture Clover sitting on the couch with him, talking about how excited he was for the upcoming semester. He could hear his laugh as he talked about the prospective assignments he had yet to give, and the poetry he had to look forward to. Clover would then reminisce about the trip, and maybe some of the students from his fall semester, only to remark about how much some of them had grown, even during the duration of the winter trip.

Silence would fall between them, and he’d smile at Qrow with that same captivating smile, before reclining in the chair, arms above his head. He wondered if Clover had caught him take that initial peek on Thanksgiving, when Clover exposed the stretch of skin below his navel when he stretched in an exaggerated motion. Nowadays, it didn’t take much to rile Qrow up when it came to Clover, though at this point with how much Clover was doing it, he had to be oblivious to his colleague’s reactions, otherwise he wouldn’t torment him so much.

Qrow glanced down at his phone screen, which indicated the time as 6:25 P.M. He pondered possible choices for the evening. He didn’t really feel like going out to eat, and he didn’t have any food to cook, so maybe he could order something. But more than anything, he needed a shower. Eventually, he decided to order something for delivery, and take a shower while he waited for the food to arrive. If he ordered from some place far enough away, then he’d have ample time to get cleaned and dried off before he had to worry about answering the door for a delivery person.

After five minutes of searching, he located a small sushi bar that said it would be about 45 minutes for delivery, even with its close proximity. Qrow was fine with that, so he ordered a Hamachi roll and a spicy tuna roll. As soon as he hit the order button, he tossed his phone aside without waiting for the confirmation, and headed towards the bathroom.

Qrow turned on the water first, to give it some time to warm up, as he stripped off his clothes. They still had the smell of airplane on them, and now that scent was mixed with some of his sweat from laboring all afternoon around his apartment. He held the bundle of clothes away from himself in disgust before dropping them on the floor, and ultimately stepping out of his boxers, before he entered the shower, and flipped the switch.

A second or two passed, before he was assaulted by the hot spray in a powerful fashion, which lost its force a few moments later, and became the shower he’d been used to. The one in the hotel had been amazing, with consistent pressure that was sure to blast off any dirt or muck from the day. A few times Clover had interrupted Qrow by knocking on the door, reminding him of how long he’d been in the shower. Qrow couldn’t help it, it was a great place to think, and those showerheads were divine if anything. Whenever Qrow decided to settle down in a house somewhere, he’d have to build a shower like that, and that was non-negotiable.

Qrow looked up at his own showerhead and closed his eyes, as his face rose to meet the hot water. He could feel the thin layers of grime being washed away, as he started scrubbing his body with his hands. Qrow ran both of his hands through his hair a few times, causing it to lose a bit of its shape, before he reached down and grabbed the bottle of shampoo. The aromatic scent greeted him as he squeezed a small amount into his palms, before he set to work, lathering up his hair. Breathing deeply, he allowed himself to appreciate the lavender scent in the small space.

Once his hair was thoroughly shampooed, he grabbed the similarly scented bottle of body wash, and this time he squeezed a more generous amount onto a washcloth, and started working it around his body in slow, circular motions. As he did before, he took slow, deep breaths to allow the aromatherapy aspect of his body wash to kick in. There wasn’t any dramatic difference, and there never was one singular eye-opening event, but he did have to admit that overall, it did make him feel calmer when he did this ritual.

Qrow’s hands worked the bubbles on his skin, as he washed some of them away under the spray, enjoying his alone time. Starting on his shoulders, his hands slowly made their way downward, caressing and scrubbing his bare skin as they went. As they travelled further south, Qrow inhaled again, and this time the scent was not uniquely his own. His mind wandered to Clover using the shampoo and bodywash as a substitute for his own over the course of the trip, and he found himself quickly going down the rabbit hole.

All of that time in close proximity, and Qrow had been reminded nearly every morning of the man’s physique, as they woke up in such intimate positions. Of course, none of them were as sexual as they had been that very first morning together months ago, but the affect had been the same. Watching Clover, bed head and all, climb out of the sheets morning after morning in nothing but varying states of undress had been a struggle for Qrow. Sometimes Clover wore a tank top and shorts to bed, where other nights he’d forego them both, in favor of sleeping in his underwear. To say that Qrow had to fight himself to not stare would be the same as saying a blue sky was blue.

And yet, every morning, Clover would step into the shower, and use Qrow’s scents, his soaps, his scrubs. The keen awareness of the fact that Clover had done just that was having an effect on Qrow in his own lonesome shower, as his hands continued to roam. He closed his eyes, and let his imagination run wild as he indulged himself for the first time in over a month. He’d been very pent up, and this was exactly the kind of thing he needed.

Qrow imagined Clover’s hands tracing patterns up and down his naked torso. He’d tease Qrow’s sides with the tips of fingers, while he’d mouth at his neck from behind. Qrow raised a hand to his own neck, placing two fingers where Clover would no doubt seek to claim purchase. As his right hand hesitated on his hip, Qrow gently dug into his skin with his nails on his left hand by his neck. Clover’s ministrations in their morning together led Qrow to believe that Clover would certainly leave love bites if he could, and each time Qrow marked himself with his nails lightly, he pictured Clover giving him said love bites.

With his right hand, Qrow reached down and grabbed his slicked cock, and started slowly moving his hand up and down his length, eliciting a moan from his lips as he pictured Clover giving him one last love bite. While he’d been enthusiastic before, Qrow thought of Clover as a tender lover, one who would kiss sweet nothings into him like ink on a blank page. His hands would roam Qrow’s body, exploring places they had yet to chart a course for in the early morning light. Qrow’s head went back as he continued stroking his dick, the water and remnants of soap providing lubrication and an extra level of pleasure as he sped his pace from the slow, drawn out motions before to a more cadenced movement.

Qrow moaned as he pictured Clovers hands taking the place of his own. One hand found its way towards Qrow’s nipple, and it flicked it before pinching it softly between the thumb and index finger as the other kept pace. The hand made its way from one nipple to the next, and this time Qrow couldn’t help but groan as he felt the sensation again, everything adding up bit by bit. “Clover…”

_That’s right, beloved_ , Clover would say. _You’re so beautiful._

He could almost feel the mouth on his neck, making an archipelago of gentle kisses up towards his jaw, and eventually the side of his face. Qrow would turn his head, and Clover would kiss him deeply, taking the hand off of his chest to expertly raise Qrow’s face towards his own, and he’d speed up the pace.

Surrounded by lavender scents, and the fantasy of Clover studying Qrow’s body with the same rapt attention he used for his poetic studies, Qrow was driving himself closer and closer to the edge with every pump. His pace was becoming erratic, as he began thrusting into his hand rather than letting the hand do all of the work. He leaned forward, supporting himself against the shower wall as he continued, mouth open, curses dying before they crossed his lips. No, he could only say one word.

“Clover…” he moaned again.

_I’m here, my beautiful bird, I’m here._

“Clover…please…” Qrow’s vision began going white. He took his hand off of the shower wall and moved it below his cock. He teased himself, tracing his entrance once, while his other hand never stopped. He it moved to get a better angle, but he stopped himself.

_Not yet, love, not yet._

“Clover I…Clover…Cl…”

Qrow clenched his eyes shut and increased the pace one last time as he found himself diving over the edge. He came with a series of shudders, and with the name of his beloved on his lips as he rode out the orgasm in the steamy spray. The intensity of the climax and the fantasy had surprised him after such a long time being pent up, but nonetheless, Qrow felt some of the tension seep out of his body, as he started scrubbing his skin again to clean up.

After cleaning up the evidence of his unadulterated desire and base needs, Qrow shut off the water, and drew back the curtain. He pulled one of the clean towels off of the rack, and dried off in the tub, before wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out. He moved to the sink, and used another towel to dry his hair briefly, though it mostly laid flat, moisture causing it to stick to his forehead for the time being. He examined himself in the mirror for a few moments, before he heard a knock at the door, and he paused.

The delivery person still shouldn’t be there for another 5 or ten minutes, but maybe traffic wasn’t bad coming over. Qrow tossed aside the towel and donned a bathrobe, which he firmly tied before stepping into a pair of black slippers and shuffling towards the door. He brushed some of the stray hairs back up and out of his face before opening the door, and for once he was glad that he took hot showers, since his skin red from the water wouldn’t betray the color that he knew was coming to his face.

Clover was standing at his door. He was wearing a form-fitting, army green, cable knit sweater and a pair of dark washed jeans, as well as some nice and polished Doc Martens. He was holding his overcoat, folded over his arm, and after taking one look at Qrow, he turned his head to the side, averting his gaze.

“Don’t you look comfy?”

“Wh…what are you doing here?” Qrow asked, suddenly too self-conscious about Clover’s reaction to him, as well as to the lack of his own attire.

“I told you I’d be over at 7 to do some grading and make some food,” Clover explained, turning towards him and holding up a bag full of what Qrow assumed to be ingredients for a meal. “I told you not to forget.”

“Oh, sorry I was uh…busy…” Qrow said, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Time must’ve gotten away from me…”

“It’s alright,” Clover said, peering around Qrow. “I can see that pretty clearly…is your apartment actually clean or is it my eyes deceiving me?”

“Fuck you,” Qrow laughed. “You can come in now and find out, or you can turn around and never know the answer.”

He stepped away from the door, and Clover followed him inside, whistling as he saw the state of the apartment. He set down his belongings in a chair by the dining table before he started surveying the place. “Well it looks good so far,” he noted. “You actually have a clean kitchen for once! I’m proud of you!”

“Oh, come on, you say that like it’s never been clean,” Qrow scoffed. “You clean it every time you’re here.”

“When did you move in again?”

“I don’t remember.”

“So, in the entire time you’ve lived here, it’s only been cleaned three times?”

“Low blow, Cloves, low blow,” Qrow said chuckling to himself. He sat down on the couch as Clover continued his tour of the apartment, checking for dirty rooms, but finding surprise as each one had been cleaned as extensively as Qrow could manage. Qrow absentmindedly crossed one leg over the other and grabbed his phone off of the table where he left it. After a few clicks, he realized his order never actually sent due to the app crashing, something which had only happened to him once or twice before. He was thankful that Clover was here, so that way he could still have a delicious meal, and he wouldn’t be alone for at least a part of the evening.

Sure, he was a grown man, and sure, he’d been more than capable of taking care of himself for many years now, but he hadn’t been able to sleep nearly as well on his own as he did when he was with Clover. He’d never been able to reach that level of comfort with anyone, much less on his own, try as he might. Even if it was only for dinner and for grading, Qrow would gladly take something over nothing.

He placed his phone back down on the table and sighed before looking up at Clover, who seemed to be staring at something on Qrow’s person quite intensely.

“Uh…Clover?”

“Y-yeah?”

“You’re staring,” Qrow said, cocking his head to the side.

“You should look down,” Clover said, this time without turning away.

Qrow followed his gaze and realized that his leg had come out from beneath the bathrobe. Sure, nothing else was showing, but his entire bare leg was on display for Clover to see. Not to mention, after spending the past month with one another in close proximity, Clover would no doubt know that he’d be able to see Qrow’s underwear at the point where his leg was bare, yet none was present. Qrow’s face went red as he stood up immediately, and Clover turned away from Qrow to give him the privacy he needed to cross to his room.

“Excuse me,” Qrow said, embarrassed as he sped across his apartment, making a beeline for his bedroom.

“Take your time,” Clover said as Qrow passed him.

When Qrow came back out of his room, Clover was already busy in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and heating up a pot. He mentioned making some kind of soup, but Qrow didn’t quite catch the name of it. As Clover worked on their meal, Qrow kept him company, and even provided assistance from time to time, handing him ingredients or just listening to his ramblings. Honestly this was what he pictured life with Clover to be like. They’d both come home from work at the end of the day, and shamble in the door. They’d take turns getting cleaned up, and then set to work on dinner together while chatting about the day or other goings on. Sometimes they’d play a word game or two, or maybe they’d discuss some of the works they’d read recently.

Over their dinners, they’d have more idle chatter, while the faint sound of music would play in the background. Qrow wasn’t picky, but he knew that Clover had a penchant for classical music, so they’d spend the night listening to literal moonlit sonatas while locked in a brainstorming or analytical session. Hell, they still had to figure out what they were going to do for their anthology, so maybe they’d share drafts of their work in the afternoons and talk about their exciting new ideas. After a while, when exhaustion would threaten to take them, they’d curl up in bed, smiling, and enjoying each other’s company until they fell asleep, only to do it all over again the next day.

The idea sounded heavenly to Qrow, and frankly, like something that he once thought unattainable not too long ago. He started to tear up but dried his eyes before Clover could notice. Qrow didn’t know what he did to deserve having this idea of happiness dangling in front of his face, yet still so far away from him. He would do anything to make that dream a reality, even if that meant they’d just have to pass time as friends. He just wanted to be with Clover in some fashion, and whoever Clover loved would surely understand.

After their actual dinner, the two discussed journals idly, making comments about each student’s work as they went through together. Qrow found himself watching Clover study each of the pages with a most enlightening fascination. He truly treated each page as though it were the first time an idea had been conceived, as though he were a blank slate, taking in the work for the first time. This was different from how he’d been when they’d analyzed poetry together, but Qrow attributed that to the mixture of mediums in each of the journals.

Eventually they gave up for the night and started chatting about nothing in particular. They’d taken to trading stories again, something they found themselves doing often in their time together in Atlas. Qrow explained how he’d actually gone to see Daisy per Weiss’ influence, and that he’d seen her multiple times, and Clover lamented over the earfuls he got about not introducing the two of them sooner. He assured Qrow that it was due to scheduling reasons, but he quickly realized how bad his lie was if Qrow had made time to see Daisy multiple times.

They talked about the work that they’d each completed while abroad as well. Apparently, Clover had been steadily working on filling the notebook ever since he’d received it from Qrow, and Qrow explained a little bit more about some of the prose he’d worked on. With a sheepish smile, he also admitted to practicing his poetry, but that it wasn’t anywhere near as good as Clover’s work was, and he’d still have years to go to be able to even produce something on that level. This drew out a laugh from Clover, one which started as a chuckle, and stayed in his chest as he smiled at Qrow in a way that made Qrow feel as though he could come undone at any moment.

The whole evening had been wonderful, but as it was drawing to a close, the pair reluctantly started checking their clocks. It was well past 11 P.M. when silence fell over the two of them. Qrow certainly wasn’t going to say goodbye to Clover first. He wanted him to stay, he wanted him to be there, he wanted Clover there as the last thing he saw before he went to sleep, and the first thing he saw in the morning. He wanted Clover to bookend his days and nights, gods, even if it was just with a phone call or something…he just…he didn’t want Clover to go.

With trembling lips, he spoke.

“You know…you don’t have to go home,” Qrow said, rubbing his hands together in his lap.

“Oh?”

“I mean…can you stay?”

“Maybe for you,” Clover smirked, and Qrow found himself staring wide-eyed at his colleague. His colleague, who had long since discarded the jeans for an old pair of Qrow’s sweatpants, and who had taken it upon himself to make himself as comfortable as possible in Qrow’s nest. His colleague, who once irritated and annoyed him to no end with his starry-eyed and bushy tailed ambition, only for it to be revealed as genuine, and not a front. His colleague, who he’d so helplessly fallen for over the course of these last few months was…

“Are you quoting me?”

“Of course I am,” Clover laughed, placing a hand on Qrow’s shoulder. Qrow placed his own hand over it as he started to laugh with Clover on the couch. Their eyes never broke contact, and Qrow had never felt his heart so full and so close to breaking at once. This was dangerous. He was going to say it. He couldn’t take it anymore. The dreamlike domesticity, the tender touches, the tangled twilights, the supportive sweetness, Qrow wanted it all, and he had to know now. Even if he was rejected, he had a feeling that Clover wouldn’t just leave him out to dry, that wasn’t his style. But still, Qrow stood on the precipice of ruining the relationship they’d so meticulously built up, as his laughter turned nervous. He gripped at the knees of his own sweatpants before looking Clover directly in his teal eyes one last time, kissing goodbye to the safety of keeping his feelings a secret.

“…Clover I…”

“I mean…why wouldn’t I quote you?” Clover asked calmly. “You’re the love of my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	12. Mending Calm and Destructive Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains content about the excessive use of alcohol, as well as previous, abusive relationships. Please protect yourself.

“…What did you say?”

Blank.

Qrow Branwen was an empty reservoir, one that had emptied itself in preparation of what could have been a total disaster, but suddenly found its actions unnecessary. Though truth be told, his being had been empty for some time, waiting for a soul to come along who would be willing to give it the proper care and fill it back up again. Yet, in his hastiness to brace for rejection, to batten down the hatches, to face the tempestuous storm head-on, he had not foreseen an outcome like this.

“I said you were…are…the love of my life.”

Shock.

Qrow Branwen was an eternal pessimist, though he was one who claimed he was a realist proven correct time and time again by the world. He could count the number of times a lover told him of their affections on two hands, and he could count the number of times he believed it on one. He could also count the number of times it was true, with no strings attached, without needing any hands at all.

Yet in the moment, where it was all he wanted, Clover’s words were the last thing he expected. Qrow was ready to lay everything bare, but suddenly he wasn’t sure if he was a well filling up, or if he was a dam about to burst. Everything was different. It was what he wanted, but now that he’d heard it, he was terrified.

Utterly terrified.

There was something nice about being able to picture it in his head, what their relationship would be. With the daydreaming, there was a safety. He wanted to picture what a healthy relationship with Clover would be. He wanted to live it, he wanted to relax in it, to let its warmth comfort him, and to be able to escape to a blissful, ethereal state. But right now, it felt as though he were living the remnants of a long-forgotten dream, or a dream of a dream. The dream was one which was lost on waking up, but where the echoes last for years to come.

No, this wasn’t just a dream. This was all too familiar.

“Why?”

“Qrow?” Clover moved closer to Qrow on the couch, moving a hand and hovering it over Qrow’s shoulder. When Qrow didn’t wave it away, he gently placed it on Qrow, as if trying to steady him in the midst of the turmoil. “Qrow, talk to me. Why what?”

“This isn’t a dream, is it?”

“No,” Clover chuckled. “You could always pinch yourself to check.”

“If it’s not a dream, then why is this familiar?”

Clover’s hand suddenly withdrew, and his gaze fell into his lap. It was Qrow’s turn to examine the man next to him, who was now seemingly swimming adrift, searching for a lifeline that would provide him with the right thing to say. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and when he saw Qrow staring at him, he immediately ducked his head.

“This uh…this isn’t the first time I’ve told you…”

“I think I’d remember you telling me,” Qrow replied, arching his brown, confusion scrawled all over his face.

“That’s what I thought too,” Clover sighed.

“Clover,” Qrow said, inching closer. “What are you talking about?”

* * *

Qrow really hated the end of September. He couldn’t wait for October, and he loved autumn, but as far as he was concerned, September could go fuck itself, especially the ass end of it. They were already a month and a half into the semester by this point, but Qrow already couldn’t wait for it to be over. His students this year were a rambunctious group, though they didn’t exactly harbor ill intent. If anything, Qrow was just annoyed at how high energy some of them could be so late in the day. The disposition of his students didn’t really help him in his state anyways. There was no way he’d ever tell them, but he still wished that just for once, his students around this time of year would get the hint and tone it down.

He still had the number in his phone.

He still had the last message.

He still had everything.

He still had no intention of getting rid of it either.

“Fuck,” Qrow hissed, as his office hours were drawing to a close. Years ago, he would have been absolutely thrilled to be at work. He would have worked through the day, checking his phone like a giddy child, knowing that no message would come, knowing that he’d have to be the one to initiate, like he always was. That’s how it always was when it came to his relationship with Jimmy.

Jimmy was the one who actually asked Qrow out the first time. He would pick the dates, and they weren’t flexible at all. They were also never spur of the moment things, though Qrow understood why. There was something alluring and sexy about being the “business trip” or the “day off” plans. They never went anywhere populated, and if they did, they’d find some corner tucked away, and Jimmy would keep up appearances in public. Though when they were alone in an apartment, it was like night and day. Words would stop between them, and their actions would become something more primal.

Though when it came to actual conversations, Qrow was always the one to initiate them, and Jimmy was a terrible texter. He’d had a bad habit of opening Qrow’s messages and forgetting to reply, or at least that’s what he’d said. Sometimes Qrow would go weeks without hearing from Jimmy, only to have to call him to stop the anxiety from building any further. He never tried calling first. He wasn’t supposed to call as a Plan A. Calling was only supposed to be for emergencies, since he didn’t know where Jimmy could be, or what Jimmy could be up to. At least that’s what he had told himself.

Their first date might have been in August, before school began, but they agreed to go steady on the last day of September. Though it was a long-distance relationship, they were both willing to make the sacrifice. At the time, Qrow seriously thought that they’d have the willpower to be able to pull it off, but he’d been fooling himself. As time crept on, he needed Jimmy by his side. While their visits were passionate, they often left him vacant at the end, missing Jimmy more than he did before they saw each other.

The cycle of loneliness, sex, and separation was not a kind one to him. Quickly, Qrow realized the only visits that were permitted were the ones that Jimmy organized, and when they worked with Jimmy’s schedule. He’d drop everything to either host his lover, or fly out to see him, no matter the inconvenience. Eventually, he’d had enough, and he’d send a message about not being able to keep this relationship up. Those were the only times Jimmy would call him of his own initiative.

He’d say something about this being all in Qrow’s head, and that he’d be fine if he slept on it like always. They’d stay on the phone late into the night, until Jimmy eventually had to leave, and Qrow would agree that his sentiments were dumb, as concerning as they were. Jimmy never seemed to have the same problems he did about their relationship, so maybe it was all just in his head like Jimmy said. He tended to overthink everything, so he was sure that someone with a clear head like Jimmy knew what he was talking about, and for that he was grateful.

Still, after their breakup, Qrow remembered the day of their would-be anniversary.

And the day of their breakup.

It really wasn’t hard when they were the same day, though he’d long since forgotten how many years they’d kept up their relationship.

They were in Atlas, and while they were doing some shopping around nighttime, Jimmy was called away for work. Since they were too far away from the apartment for Qrow to go back, and Qrow didn’t want the date to end, Jimmy ushered him into a bar and told him he’d be back once the matter was settled. After a few drinks, some concerned texts from his family back in Patch, and more than a few more drinks, Qrow felt nothing but outrage when he found a woman dressed in uniform standing in front of Qrow, claiming to be sent on Jimmy’s behalf to retrieve him, instead of Jimmy himself.

He couldn’t remember the words, but he remembered her name, with hair as white as the snow that fell in the wintertime. She spoke with an air of superiority and disdain for Qrow. How dare she? He was the one spending his anniversary night alone in a shady bar, tucked away from the main crowds and main streets. All he remembered from the rest of the night was his sorrow and rage mixed together in a cocktail that did nothing but ruin everything he’d worked so hard to try to stabilize. He screamed, he shouted, he fought, he wept, he broke. He burst with a magnificent violence that he didn’t think himself capable, but when put under duress for such a lengthy period of time, his wine aged into such a marvelous disaster.

And Iron Heart just stood there, with a stone-cold expression that didn’t even attempt to mask how unamused he was by the whole thing. After Qrow relayed his sorrows and troubles, he was met with a simple: “Are you done being ridiculous?”

But there was no warmth behind the words. There was only cold iron, like the bars that caged his heart away for so long. When he returned to Beacon, a few weeks went by before he started regularly receiving messages. Every other month, at the end of the month, he’d get the same message.

“Have you calmed enough to talk yet?”

So, come the end of September, when thoughts of James were at an all-time high, suffice it to say that Qrow Branwen was not a happy camper. And this particular evening, he’d just so happened to get one of those messages, even though it had only been one month since the last one. He needed a drink, and he needed one now. There were no students in his office, so why not leave early? It was a Friday evening after all, and he doubted that anyone else would need him for the rest of the night.

He packed up early so that he could go home briefly to change and grab a quick bite to eat. He put on an ombre button down that was grey around the collar, and black around the waist. He rolled the sleeves up, and left enough buttons unbuttoned so that his necklace stood out against his bare flesh. Continuing with the color scheme, he wore slim, black pants, and black dress shoes. With his customary leather wrist bands and his studs in his ears, Qrow was about ready to go. He looked himself over in the mirror once, twice, three times, until he finally seemed satisfied with his appearance. He picked up the cologne and sprayed it into the air, waiting a second before walking through the cloud.

He tilted his head as he looked over his appearance one last time and unbuttoned another button as he fixed his hair with the other hand. It was his would-be anniversary, he needed a drink, and he needed to blow off some steam. Qrow turned back towards the vanity and reached into one of the drawers to grab out a few condoms, not really caring that he’d accidentally grabbed multiple, before stuffing them in his back pocket. Now he was ready to go out.

Where?

Didn’t matter.

With whom?

Didn’t matter.

Who would he be leaving the bars with?

Didn’t matter.

Qrow was a grown adult and was more than capable of looking out for himself. But now, more than anything, he just wanted a fucking drink. Qrow called a ride share to take him to the bar he had in mind. It was a place that happened to be run by a man named Junior, who’d he’d had the pleasure of conversing with a few times. A dance club sounded more fun than a bar right now. At a bar, he’d just have to wait for someone to approach him, but at a club, he could drown out the noise in his ears and the noise in his head at the same time. If the music was loud enough, he wouldn’t even have to worry about holding a conversation.

Clubs always made it easy to hook up with someone. Qrow knew how to make himself available, and he knew how to attract people with the same intentions he had. It was a skill he’d had long before he’d met Ironwood, and it was certainly one that he’d honed after their breakup. The alcohol helped; it really did. It made him feel looser, made him move more to the music, and allowed him to drift away without a thought.

When he walked into the club, it was still pretty vacant. It usually opened around 8, but wouldn’t be packed until at least midnight, when people had hyped themselves up enough from their bar crawls to want to go dancing. He had no troubles strolling up to the counter and ordering some top shelf tequila shots. He usually went with whiskey or bourbon, but tequila was more fun in clubs. He always said he’d look up the properties of tequila to see if there was something that affected people differently than other liquors.

As he tossed back the first shot, he faintly felt the familiar burn in the back of his throat as he gulped it down, before biting on the lime and sucking it quickly. He really didn’t need the lime at this point as a chaser. He could just do the shots normally, but it was fun to be festive every now and then with all of the ingredients. The burn that alcohol once gave him faded long ago, to the point where he hardly reacted to doing shots now and then, though he remembered the last time he did shots with Raven, Summer, and Tai, and how worried they were when Qrow didn’t even blink after doing his double.

Soon, the rhythm began to overtake him, though there weren’t enough people on the dance floor yet, so Qrow took to leaning against the bar, gazing out over the floor. He crossed one leg in front of the other as he surveyed the different people dancing. Though the dance floor wasn’t full, there were still several couples going at it. Some were being funny, as they looked as though they were out with friends, whereas others looked as though they were literally trying to have sex through their clothes.

Qrow chuckled to himself.

Watching people dance at clubs was always funny. Really, some clubs were no different from high school or college dances, where it was just a bunch of friends dancing in a circle, where occasionally one or two would step into the middle. People really needed to stop going to the clubs in packs of six or more, since it would really limit the space as the night went on. After all, the purpose of going to a club was to try and seduce someone with dancing, pressed up against one another as you ground through song after song against one another. Sure, you could make out, and maybe get a little handsy, but within reason.

Getting pushed out of the way because a group of friends wasn’t all standing in a circle with enough space for the holy ghosts of ancient ancestors between them really wasn’t the best fucking way to spend your time, not to mention being shoved to make room for such large groups really was inconsiderate. Qrow was of the mind that larger groups really should be split up at the door. All you needed was two or three people, and that would be more than enough to take care of you.

Still, as the night crawled on, the music got louder, and the lights dimmed. An hour passed since his arrival before he felt a tap on his shoulder. Qrow turned around to find Junior, smiling at him. The man was well groomed, with a neat beard, and a neatly pressed uniform. Save for his red tie, the rest of his outfit was rather crisp, with the black and white offsetting each other just well enough to work.

“Qrow, good to see you,” he smirked.

“Likewise, Junior,” Qrow replied, loud enough to be heard over the music. “What can I do for you?”

“How about your drinks for the night, on the house?”

“What did Yang do this time?” Qrow he projected, leaning closer to Junior in an attempt to hear him better.

“N-nothing! She didn’t start another fight in here!” Junior said, standing up taller as he straightened his tie nervously. “Though she…certainly finished it…”

“So why are you giving me drinks instead of me having to pay you for damages?”

“Oh, because she totally saved another girl from a really troublesome customer,” Junior explained, the smirk gone from his face. Usually he had no tolerance for violence in the club, so it was interesting to see the hints of a genuine smile forming at the corners of his mouth as he continued his recounting. “The dude was being super aggressive, and your niece stepped in and showed him who’s who. Good thing too, he’s been scaring off my customers recently, and now that he turned tail and ran, more people started coming back.”

“She’s a firecracker, that one,” Qrow laughed.

“Honestly, my guys had been having trouble with him for weeks, but she just stepped in between that bastard and this girl, with no fear, no hesitation,” Junior continued. He pulled out a double shot glass, and expertly poured more top shelf tequila in without spilling a drop. “Salt and lime?”

“Lime, no salt.”

Junior nodded, before preparing another one for himself. The two toasted, tapped the shot glasses on the counter, and went bottoms up as the tossed back the tequila like it was water. Seconds later, Qrow bit into the new lime slice, and sucked more of the juice, whereas Junior was coughing a bit from doing a double of tequila.

“Enjoy your night, Qrow,” he said, before going down to the other end of the bar to take care of more customers.

He’d give Yang a lecture about fighting in the club later. For now, he had drinks to drink, and dances to dance. Qrow found several suitable dance partners as the night went on, though every time one of them would step away, or he’d step away to get another shot or use the bathroom, he’d be unable to locate them again when he returned. The one time he had been able to find his dance partner again, they were already making out with some other random person on the floor, which was fine, it happened all the time.

Qrow knew he’d been guilty of doing the same thing as well.

By the time he’d taken his eighth shot, or was it his tenth? Qrow couldn’t keep count anymore. Either way, he started to feel all danced out. He thought he’d have a possible prospect for a one-night stand, but when he left one last time to go to the bathroom, again, he couldn’t find his would be bedmate, which was a shame too. The man was handsome, and he looked as though he’d be able to treat Qrow with some level of decency while they were busy indulging in the indecency of it all. Qrow stood by the door and waited for a few more minutes, his phone screen proudly declaring it fifteen minutes past midnight.

He stepped outside into the bracingly brisk night air, and surveyed the other people standing on the street in front of the club, waiting to be let in. The bouncer nodded at Qrow, who smirked back, before looking at his phone to call a ride-share. Suddenly, he felt an arm snake around his waist, as someone new started to whisper into his ear.

“There you are, sexy.”

It was someone from earlier in the night who Qrow ditched when he went to the bathroom. The dude left something to be desired on the dance floor, and he really didn’t have the time to be able to teach or endure something that would ultimately be unsatisfying for him, so he’d long since struck this man from the record as a potential bed mate. Still, his seemingly loose grip tightened, as he started directing Qrow down the street, whispering things in his ear that he couldn’t quite make out.

Qrow really would have preferred it was the man who he’d just met near the end of this time in the club, but if this was the best he could do tonight, how fittingly pathetic. A pathetic fuck for a pathetic man, lamenting over his pathetic would-be anniversary to someone who always looked at him as something pathetic and shameful, something to hide from the public. It was almost poetic.

“Excuse me,” Qrow heard a voice call from behind them. “Thanks for finding my friend. Qrow, thought I lost you, pal!”

Qrow groaned as he turned around and recognized the face of his colleague, the prodigal poet. What was his name? Kevin? Connor? Clover? Yeah, that was it. Clover something. Yeah, that sounded right. Still, Qrow wasn’t one to turn down the easy out.

“Hey, yeah I lost you somewhere inside, thought you’d left already,” Qrow laughed, feeling the grip tighten around his waist.

“But what about us baby?”

“Sorry, he and I have to go to work early tomorrow morning, so we really should go now,” Clover said, stepping closer.

“I can drop him off.”

“Nah, I really should go with him,” Qrow played it up. “I’m late all the time, but this guy keeps me on schedule.”

“Fucking pretty boy,” Qrow heard the stranger grumble as he released his hold on Qrow and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning back towards the club. When he was out of Qrow’s line of sight, Qrow sighed, before placing a hand on the back of his neck and laughing.

“Thanks, my guy,” Qrow snorted. “I guess I owe you one.”

Without the presence of someone to lean against, Qrow suddenly found himself staggering and swaying more than he thought, as the drinks which had already hit seemed to be strengthening their effects. Qrow was surprised for a moment, but then he laughed again once more as he let his legs buckle underneath him, suddenly tired of standing.

“Woah!” Clover shouted, catching Qrow before he hit the ground. “We need to get you home, Qrow. Where do you live?”

“Mmmm…nope,” Qrow laughed. “Don’t want to go home tonight.”

“Fine, then do I have your permission to take you to my place?” Clover asked, concern lacing his statement. “I’ll drive you home when you’re sobered up, but I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“That’s fine with me,” Qrow snickered, leaning against Clover. “Lead the way, poetry man.”

“Poetry man?”

* * *

Clover knew he would be out late that night. He was going to hang out with his friends for the first time in a long time. They had a movie night planned, and everyone was bringing a dish. For once, Clover was going to be able to meet up with everyone and not have the shadow of work looming over him, so he planned to enjoy the night to the fullest.

Clover knew he would be getting home late. He’d taken a ride share over to Vine’s apartment, but after leaving his dish at his apartment, he decided to walk back. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed a walk through the city, and as a man with his build, in a city as safe as Beacon, Clover knew he’d be able to enjoy the walk and the atmosphere of night life.

What Clover didn’t know is that he’d run into Qrow in the middle of the night, leaving a seedy dance club. The man who was currently clutching Qrow looked him over as though he was a piece of meat instead of a person, and Qrow was completely oblivious to the whole thing. When Clover intervened, trying to separate the two, he actually didn’t know if Qrow would willingly acknowledge him. He’d fumbled so many times at work, he was worried that Qrow saw him as an annoyance, though many of the other professors told him that Qrow was cold to everyone. Still, he didn’t want this stranger to be taking Qrow to gods know where to do things while he was in no condition to do them.

When Clover caught Qrow, he didn’t know just how warm he’d be when Qrow drew himself closer to Clover. Every now and then, bits of Qrow’s drunkenness would surface, as he’d misstep somewhere, or he’d lean against Clover more than he probably intended. He didn’t want to give him a lecture, but he couldn’t help but feel sad. Sure, one-night stands were a thing that Clover knew people did, but he didn’t want to think that Qrow had to go do those kinds of things with a random person. Someone of his quality should be appreciated and loved properly, and not by someone new, having to rediscover things time and time again with every new encounter.

Clover led Qrow into his lonely apartment as quietly as he could, making sure to not disturb the neighbors at such a late hour. After flicking some lights on, Clover made for the kitchen to get Qrow a glass of water, as Qrow stumbled around his apartment, spinning around slowly.

“Wow…so green,” Qrow snorted. “How very...you.”

“How so?”

“Your name, all these plants, it fits you.”

“Uh…thanks?”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Qrow rolled his eyes. “If I see a single pot of clovers here, I’m going to make fun of you.”

“I’ll make sure to hide my non-existent clover pot.”

“Wait, you seriously don’t have one?”

“Nope,” Clover said as he approached Qrow, glass of water in hand.

“You’re shitting me. Clover, you have to get one,” Qrow said in a rather animated fashion as he waved his arms around. “In fact, I think I should make fun of you because you don’t have one! Seriously! Get one.”

“Okay, fine, I get it.”

The pair sat down on his couch in silence, and Qrow nodded as he took the glass from Clover. Alone with Qrow, and Clover couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. Every minute of every day, he had a thousand and one thoughts running through his mind pertaining to Qrow’s work and his life. The questions he’d had about his novels, the concerns he’d had about the man’s reclusive tendencies, but above all, he just wanted to get to know him.

He’d long since stopped being a fan ever since he started working at the university. Don’t get him wrong, Clover still loved Qrow’s books with every fiber of his being, but he saw that Qrow didn’t need any more fans. During staff gatherings, he saw how some of the other professors would try to endear themselves to him, only to bad mouth him the second they’d step away, two faced as they could possibly be. Not to mention, their first meeting didn’t go so well when he’d told Qrow he was a fan. He could still remember seeing Qrow’s face fall after he’d spoken those words.

No, as he’d seen Qrow throughout his time at Beacon, he saw the man do much alone. His name had been attached to so many programs and grants and initiatives, no doubt forced on him by the rather enthusiastic head of the department. Qrow seemed to be running on fumes, and not a single soul was stepping up to help him. It seemed as though those that tried to cozy up to him were only trying to grow their reputation and network, and Qrow could see through every single one of them.

This in turn led them to leave Qrow out to dry, practically drowning in all of the work he’d had placed upon him. When Clover offered to take some of them off of Qrow’s hands, Dr. Ozpin happily agreed, and immediately transferred them over to Clover. Surely, he thought that would mean that Qrow would have more free time to do things for himself, since the man sorely looked like he needed a break. However, Qrow seemed to be rather displeased with the notion of the newer professor taking over some of his classes and programs. Sure, they were about the same in age, but Clover wagered Qrow thought he was trying to do the same thing the other staff had done. It made Qrow much more difficult to approach, but still Clover tried.

He used to ask students who took both of their classes what they thought of him, and many of the students sung Qrow’s praises. They mentioned that he might be a bit of a grouch, but he did truly seem to care for the students as they grew as writers. And if he was faking it, he was faking it well enough for them to fall for it. But still, for a man who played the lone wolf, and who bared his fangs to the teachers, there was still something pure, something hopeful in him, and Clover saw it shape the students.

No, Clover had long since stopped being a fan of Qrow’s. What was once admiration over his command of language and story crafting had given way to admiration of other qualities, qualities which Qrow kept hidden from the world. Despite everything going on, his fatigue, his lack of friends, troubles at work, or what not, Qrow seemed dedicated to helping the students shine, no matter their level of talent or development.

Since their offices were next to one another, Clover saw Qrow sticking around, grading papers late into the night with such an intensity and focus. During one particularly brutal finals week, Clover saw Qrow sleeping at his desk between visits from students, so Clover snuck away to get him some coffee and a scone. Any small way he could help Qrow without him noticing would do. He was easy to love, but hard to approach, and Clover wanted to make his small acts of support count.

Clearly though, Qrow was suffering. Though others might not care, Clover did. He wanted to know more, and he wanted to help the man. He noticed a rather sour disposition around the starting months of the fall semester, as well as Valentine’s Day, which made Clover think that Qrow was spurned in some way, shape, or form. If his lovers treated him like his coworkers did, there was no wonder why Qrow was unhappy. But then why were Qrow’s romances so fulfilling? Why were the romantic aspects of his stories so breathtakingly enamoring if it was something that only gave him pain? Perhaps it was his family. Clover wanted to know. He wanted to help. He wanted to help Qrow get better, and he wanted to be able to one day just be there and tell him things would be alright.

“So, are we going to fuck or what?”

Clover jumped a bit, snapped out of his train of thought by the sudden suggestion from Qrow.

“No…no we’re not.”

“You mean you don’t want to?” Qrow said, cocking an eyebrow. He unbuttoned another one of the buttons on his shirt, causing Clover to look away. “I was looking for an easy lay tonight, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, you are my type. Not that you’re easy, or anything, but like, offer’s on the table.”

“Uh…thank you, I guess? Also, I didn’t say I don’t want to,” Clover swallowed. “But not the way you are now.”

“What’s wrong with the way I am now?”

“You’re drunk,” Clover said. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Such a gentleman,” Qrow chuckled. “Fine, we’ll just fuck in the morning when I’m sober. Morning sex is great anyways.”

Clover stood up and went to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. Anything to avoid having to deal with Qrow flirting with him anyways. Though where was this coming from? Maybe he was just teasing Clover since he’d taken him away from what was going to be his evening’s adventure. Though if he really was resigned to staying with the stranger, he could’ve just as easily brushed off Clover’s sudden appearance outside the club. He returned to the couch to find Qrow playing with one of the pillows diligently, and he sighed as he sat down, taking a swig of water.

“I don’t get it…why are you so nice to me?” Qrow mumbled, slouching over the arm of the couch. He looked over at the man, whose jovial expression had turned serious. A happy drunk, Clover could handle. But if Qrow got emotional…Clover didn’t know how he’d be able to handle that. He once heard Qrow sobbing softly in his office, but when he tried to check on him, Qrow didn’t answer the door, he simply went silent. But now, Clover waited with bated breath for Qrow to continue. “I’ve been nothing but an ass to you.”

“That’s not true,” Clover shrugged. “You had reasons for keeping your distance.”

“Clover, I just…I don’t get it.”

“Can I ask you something?” Clover said, voice low.

“Sure, ask away,” Qrow said, a finger twirling back in forth in the air.

“Why do you not like me?”

“Take a good look around,” his colleague said after a moment of thought, making a sweeping motion with his arm. “You, this place…it all looks like you stepped out of a book one day.”

“I’m not following.”

“Gods, it’s so frustrating how perfect you are,” Qrow groaned, a hand covering his eyes.

“You think I’m perfect?” Clover asked, hand over his chest.

“Except I don’t,” Qrow responded. “You literally look like you stepped off of the page, not a care in the world. But even so, I can’t fucking figure you out, and it infuriates me.”

“Qrow I…what?”

“You take my work like it’s no skin off your nose. You haven’t asked me for anything. You're not trying to suck up to me or win favor with me like everyone else. I don’t get you,” Qrow replied, tears starting to form. “Just tell me what you want. Just fucking tell me you’re trying to use me too. Make me right. Do it.”

“But I’m not,” Clover explained, inching closer to Qrow. “I just…I want to help.”

“Why? Why could you possibly want to help me?” Qrow said, voice somewhere between a shout and a sob. “What do you want? More fame? Money? What?”

“I don’t want any of those things!”

“Then why help me?”

The tears that fell from Qrow’s eyes hit the couch, and Clover felt something within him break. His long-held feelings like dandelion seeds, barely hanging on, and Qrow’s cry was a turbulent wind that swept them all away, clouding Clover with the nothing but their presence. He wouldn’t be able to breathe without them escaping, and rather than suffocate on them any longer, he allowed them to escape with the winds.

“Because I love you, Qrow Branwen,” Clover said, hands shaking. “I admired you before, but you made it easy for me to love you, and I want you to let me help you in return. You're the love of my life.”

Both of them sat in the silence.

Clover could practically hear a pin drop, but right now he felt as though he was going to throw up. He’d just done it. He’d laid everything bare, and Qrow was just staring at him, in a drunken stupor. Clover wanted some reaction, anything. He didn’t care if it was a positive or negative reception, but anything was better than this blasted silence. After a minute, Qrow’s head tilted downwards, and his body began to shake. Clover studied him for a moment, before the sound began to rise in volume.

Qrow was laughing.

Why?

Why was he laughing?

Was it really that funny?

Just as quickly as it began, the laughter stopped.

“No, you don’t,” Qrow said, head rolling back. “You don’t love me. You’re too nice to me to love me.”

“What…what is that supposed to mean?”

“Means what I said,” Qrow said, sighing. He paused for a moment, as if thinking over his words again, wondering how far was too far. “Nope, you don’t love me. But I will say this: I wish I could love someone like you. I bet it’d be nice.”

Qrow Branwen’s words had once built Clover up in the darkest of times. No matter what, he could always turn to Qrow’s books as an escape from his day to day life. No matter the sorrow, no matter the hour, he could always dive, headlong into one of Qrow’s tales and it felt like the most comforting thing in the world. The man’s artistry with words was unrivaled in Clover’s eyes. It was like eating your favorite homecooked meal. It was going home to his mother, where he’d always be welcomed with open arms. To Clover, Qrow’s words had been everything.

And now they were tearing him apart with reckless abandon.

“Someone like me?” Clover said, fighting back the urge to tear up, himself.

“Yup.”

“But not me?”

“Bingo.”

“Why?”

“Because perfect guys like you don’t have a need for broken things like me,” Qrow said, as if it was the most factual thing he’d ever stated. No emotion, no tone, no remorse. He simply looked down at his hand rubbing the back of it twice against the couch, before examining it one more time.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop talking about my beloved that way,” Clover said.

“That’s…that’s my word,” Qrow whispered.

“I know it is,” Clover replied, placing both hands on Qrow’s shoulders gently, though at this point it felt more as though he was grounding himself in place, rather than keeping Qrow calm. “I love you, Qrow Branwen.”

“You don’t.”

“I love you so much, it hurts,” Clover said, a tear starting to roll down his cheek. “I love the way you care when you think no one notices. I love your spirit. You give, even when you have nothing left to give, and you don’t ever take. And I can tell you’re suffering, but you don’t have to do it alone. Let me help you.”

Clover stared deeply into Qrow’s crimson eyes, hoping that his message would reach him, and that Qrow would let him help.

“I love you, Qrow Branwen,” Clover continued. “When things are bleak, I look to you, because you’ve always been there to make me feel better. So please, don’t talk about my beloved that way in front of me…you’re breaking my heart.”

“Why are you using that word?” Qrow breathed, voice barely audible. The tears started rolling down Qrow’s face again, and Clover gently wiped them away. Clover moved closer, and yet Qrow did not back away. With hesitation, Clover slowly tilted his head forward, until his forehead barely rested on Qrow’s. Yet Qrow did not back away. “Tell me. Why are you using that word?”

“Because you gave it to me,” Clover smiled. “You taught me that a beloved was someone to surrender one’s body and mind to with complete trust that they will watch over you. You taught me that a beloved is someone you’d hang the stars in the sky for on a whim, even at the end of days, when there’s nothing but the void. You taught me that a beloved is someone you’d always look to, even through the darkest of nights, through the furthest of distances.”

“I…”

“If you need someone to love you, please let it be me.”

Clover’s eyes went wide as he felt Qrow’s lips tenderly meet his own. It lasted for a moment, as if a test, before Qrow closed the distance once more. Clover could feel every hope and every prayer Qrow had being poured into the kiss. He could feel his loneliness, the ghost of a prayer for the better, and untold heartbreak on his lips. Clover broke the kiss, feeling as though any second more would make the sorrow overwhelm him, and instead drew Qrow into an embrace. Their bodies flush against one another.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay,” Qrow laughed against Clover. “I wish I could love you…and I’ll work hard to make that wish a reality. I want to be someone you can love.”

“I can live with that,” Clover smiled, bittersweetly. “You already are.”

* * *

When Clover finished his tale, the pair fell silent for several minutes.

“Oh my god…”

“And that’s what happened,” Clover said, breath shaky.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You weren’t exactly all peachy keen in the morning, Qrow,” Clover shrugged. “When you said you thought us being together was a one-night stand, I was confused, but then when I talked to you in the office, I knew. You really didn’t remember.”

Qrow’s mind was racing with a million thoughts a second as he tried to process everything. This wasn’t the first time Clover had confessed. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken the leap off the edge. And Qrow had completely forgotten it the next day, and he’d been an ass a while longer. Clover had expected to wake up the next morning, with Qrow in his arms, as a lover, and instead he’d just…oh gods…

“Clover…”

“I thought that this was the universe’s way of tormenting me,” Clover laughed sadly. “I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve it. I promised myself that I’d let you come to me, if you ever did, and that I wouldn’t force that on you twice…but I let you down…”

“Clover.”

“I failed you,” Clover said, tearing up. As he continued to speak, his motions grew more and more frantic. “I’m sorry Qrow…I just…I couldn’t hold it in anymore. These past few months have been the happiest of my life, spending them with you and getting to know you, and I…after everything in Atlas…gods, I love you. I love you so much it hurts that you don’t love me back. I failed you…I’ve done it again; I’ve imposed upon you again. I don’t deserve your kindness.”

Qrow placed both of his hands on the sides of Clover’s face.

“Stop talking about my beloved that way.”

“…What?”

“I’m the one who hurt him,” Qrow said. “My stupid decisions, my drunken sloppiness, oh my god, I’m so sorry Clover…I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You haven’t failed me, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. I hurt you in the worst possible way…”

“Did…did you just say…”

“I did, and I’ll say it again! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry!”

“No,” Clover laughed, wiping away a teardrop. “Before that.”

“Clover I…I love you.”

“You do?”

“You know…when I have a character call someone ‘beloved’ like this…I get it now,” Qrow chuckled. “I want you to be loved. I want you to know that you are loved. I know that I’ve hurt you…and I will spend the rest of my days making up for it, but only if you’ll agree to let yourself be loved by someone like me.”

“There’s only one thing I’d want more on this earth,” Clover replied.

“And what would that be?”

Much as Qrow had just done moments before, Clover raised both of his hands to the sides of Qrow’s face. He brushed a few strands of hair out of Qrow’s vision, and the two sat staring at one another on the couch, in an instant that became an eon. Amidst the noise in their heads, silence. With hearts that threatened to leap from chests, an utter serenity, as the two sat anchored by one another.

Qrow took a moment to study Clover’s features, something he’d done frequently, but this time he had names for the things which once eluded him. In his eyes, the light that he saw wasn’t one of a curious hope, but one of an entranced dedication. In his smile, he saw the levity of adoration. There were many things which Qrow could say that he loved about Clover, but in this instance, Qrow could no longer vocalize them.

“Qrow Branwen, my beloved, can I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

Clover dropped one hand from the side of Qrow’s face, as the other slid under his chin, and lifted it up with a subtlety and a cautiousness, as if Qrow were but a mirror image that would shatter without a moment’s notice. Clover moved in, stopping mere millimeters away, before he searched Qrow’s eyes one last time. Qrow nodded very slightly, and Clover closed the distance between the two of them.

When their lips met, it was everything. It was every drop of rain that had ever touched Qrow’s skin. It was every warming cup of coffee after a long and weary night of grading. It was every cozy evening in by the fire with a good book. It was a tide pulling Qrow out to sea, and one which he happily surrendered himself to as though it were greeting him after lifetimes of separation. Qrow felt his chest swell, as he drew in closer towards Clover.

They took a brief moment to come up for air before diving back beneath the waves, drowning in each other, willingly and freely. Touches were soothing, as their lips crashed together with a steadily increasing hunger, but one that was sated solely by the presence of one another. Qrow moved one hand from the side of Clover’s face to the back of his head, slightly pulling the two together. His other hand dropped and came to rest on Clover’s chest. He pushed slightly, and moved to follow as Clover started to recline. Their kiss never broke as they repositioned, with Qrow resting atop Clover, bodies completely flush together.

Qrow could feel Clover’s on his back, embracing him with a rawness and vulnerability that Qrow had known in the few times he’d woken in the middle of the night in Atlas. Every kiss was an incantation, an inscription, a declaration, a celebration, a lamentation. Yet Qrow could hear nothing aside from the roaring waves of his emotions. Between the more starving kisses, Qrow peppered Clover with light ones, his reverence, his apologies, his hopes, his dreams, his thanks, his claims, his desires, everything he could communicate.

Qrow couldn’t remember when they’d stopped kissing, or how long they’d been doing so, but for some time after, all they did was whisper sweet nothings into the ear of the other. Most of them were just simple “I love you” statements, said freely, and no longer locked away in fear of rejection. A few times, Qrow had said he was sorry, but for each apology he made, Clover pulled him into a kiss.

There would be time later to sort through everything, but for now, they enjoyed being able to relay their affection so intimately. Every whispered veneration gave Qrow goosebumps. Every touch felt feverish, but as he laid with Clover, he didn’t want for anything else. Eventually they moved to the bed, discarding most of their clothes but keeping boxers on as they crawled under the sheets. Within moments, they quickly found themselves entangled, as they had done so on so many cold, Atlesian nights. Clover’s hands traced aimless patters on Qrow’s arms, as Qrow absentmindedly alternated between craning his neck to kiss Clover, and kissing him gently on the chest, which was easier accessible from their entwined status.

Qrow couldn’t remember when he fell asleep. Even with his scratchy sheets, which Clover complained about once, Qrow woke feeling rested, full, and fulfilled. But if there was anything Qrow could admit to, if there was anything he knew for certain, it was that waking up in Clover’s arms, and kissing him awake in the early morning light felt more natural than anything he’d ever done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here!! Wow, it's been a bit since I've uploaded, but I'm back! I really hope you all enjoyed Fair Game week last week, and that you supported everyone as much as you've supported me thus far! Things have gotten a little crazy over the past few weeks, and I know that this chapter was something that's been a long time coming. So now we finally have the night before the story (which was rewritten after the rewrite, and gosh I had to cut and change a lot, so my apologies if it's a little sloppy)!
> 
> Things finally seem to be slowing down for our guys here, or are they? Don't worry, I still have much more planned. This story isn't about to wrap up quite yet! We've got a lot more to go! 
> 
> Once again, I just want to thank everyone, and thank you for your patience with me as I know I dropped a rather large bomb on you guys before disappearing for two weeks, but hopefully this was worth the wait! Please let me know what you think of the chapter!! Comments are always appreciated, and I try to get back to you and answer every one (though since I'm on lock down in a major quarantine city, things have gotten a little crazy and I'm a little behind on getting to comments). As always, feel free to follow me on tumblr for updates related to the story. Until next time!
> 
> All my love,  
> Jelly ♥


	13. Academic Theory and Practical Application

Qrow was relieved to step foot into his office on the first day of the semester. There was something nice, something cathartic, something calming in being in his solitary room, surrounded by his stacks upon stacks of books. Leaving the door open, he slowly crossed the room, running his fingers over the spines of books as he passed the shelf. He stopped to consider a few of them, reading their titles. Most of these books had gotten him through hard times before, and he always kept them close, even if he had no intention of rereading them.

The books on his shelf spanned a myriad of genres, though Qrow found more often than not that he liked stories that were based somewhat in magical realism. Sure, slice of life stories were fun every now and then, but Qrow often found himself lacking the ability to relate to the characters within the pages. Although maybe now he’d be able to understand them a little better, the characters who risked everything for the chance to…

He smiled.

He found himself smiling a lot since the trip.

Qrow continued his search, until his deft fingers finally found what he’d been looking for. He pulled out one of Clover’s books of poetry, one which he’d gotten for free, but one which he’d stashed instead of reading. _Heart on Fire_ , one of the newer collections penned by his col…his boyfriend.

That was…that was going to take some getting used to.

He still couldn’t believe it really, even with Clover affirming his love every time doubt seemed to creep into his mind. But it would take time, something which Qrow was all too painfully aware of, but something which he was willing to go through for Clover. With his beloved at his side, he’d be able to make it. Step by step, inch by inch, Qrow would get used to it, and Clover seemed to be in it for the long haul, which was another thing that Qrow couldn’t even remotely fathom. Qrow never thought himself someone worth sticking around for, but rather someone to come back to when options were already depleted, and one needed a safety net before they hit the ground. He’d been that way for many people, both romantically and platonically.

Yeah. This would take some real getting used to.

Qrow tucked the collection under his arm and made his way over towards his desk, tossing his backpack on one of the bare spaces on the couch before taking his own spot. He shuffled some papers around and restacked some books that were covering his workspace before he opened the collection and began reading for the first time. He took it slow as he started the first poem. He stopped to think about Clover, how he would read each of the lines, and the thought he put into each syllable, each line break, each punctuation mark. Qrow didn’t quite have the hang of it the first time through, so he tried again.

_How did Clover meant for this to be read?_

As he tried again, Qrow could start to feel the words coming off the page, wrapping themselves around Qrow with a familiar warmth and tenderness. There was something unique about Clover’s writing that was so unique, so representative, and so entirely Clover, that Qrow practically jumped up from his desk when he looked up to see the man himself leaning against the bookshelf.

It didn’t help that the man in question was very dreamlike as well.

“And good morning to you, Qrow,” Clover chuckled before stepping into the room more, placing the bag he held in hand on the desk, as well as a cup of coffee. He removed his brown gloves and started undoing the buttons on his tan overcoat, revealing his usual button up and tie underneath. “I brought your breakfast, songbird.”

“Songbird?”

“You were humming,” Clover grinned. “You know you tend to do that when you’re happy, right? So, what’s on your mind?”

“I was just trying to read before class started,” Qrow blushed, grabbing the bag and coffee and pulling them closer to him. He peeked inside the bag to see a blueberry scone, one of his favorite morning treats. He quickly reached for the coffee, and sure enough, it was black, just as he liked it. The corners of his mouth started turning upwards as he stood up, book in hand, and walked around the desk to be next to Clover. “It’s actually one of yours.”

“Oh yeah? Which one?” Clover said, too busy trying to fish something out of his bag to notice Qrow holding the book up to him. When Qrow was at his side, Clover stopped and turned his head towards Qrow and the poetry collection. He took one look at the cover and froze.

_Oh?_

“Oh…that one…” Clover laughed nervously, shoving his hand in his pocket, while the other one ruffled his own hair slightly. “You don’t want to bother with that one. There’s nothing to see. Now _Fortune’s Fool_ , that’s a good one. I can lend you my copy of it.”

“I want to read this one though,” Qrow smirked, stepping a little closer. “I did a little digging, and the press thinks that this one is one of your best collections.”

“I-is that so?”

“Yup,” Qrow continued. “ _Heart on Fire_ is also apparently a widely suggested gift to loved ones. I know I got my copy for free, but I’ll just pretend you gave it to me.”

“I did,” Clover said, looking Qrow directly in the eyes. It wasn’t sadness, but rather there was a rawness in his stare that Qrow wasn’t quite expecting to receive for his joke.

“No, you didn’t, the department gave me a copy,” Qrow said, cocking his eyebrow as a quizzical look crossed his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you one day soon,” Clover said, averting his eyes. His hand came up to grab his opposite arm, and the spirit of a faded smile still decorated his face. “Just…not yet.”

Qrow reached up and placed a hand on Clover’s cheek, turning his head slightly so that Clover was looking at Qrow again, before Qrow leaned in and kissed him softly. He closed his eyes and sighed into the kiss, as he soon felt Clover’s hands come up to a gentle rest on Qrow’s shoulders. Qrow slipped his own arms around Clover’s waist, as he stepped as close as possible.

As quickly as it started, Qrow broke the kiss momentarily, their foreheads still resting against one another. Qrow whispered the next words against Clover’s mouth, and he felt his beloved smile. “You can tell me whenever you want.”

“I will.”

The two resumed, picking up where they left off, embracing tenderly among the stacks of books and graded papers form semesters past, though none of the words on any of the pages in the cramped office were adequate enough to describe how Qrow felt as he kissed Clover, shamelessly and lovingly in the early morning quiet.

Or.

What should have been the early morning quiet.

“Excuse me Professor, have you seen Pro…oh.”

Qrow practically jumped away from Clover when he heard the voice, a reflex he’d developed over the years. He was rusty though, since he didn’t even hear the girl enter, yet there she was, standing in the doorway with her hand over her mouth, and her white ponytail done up in a braid.

“G…good morning, Weiss,” Qrow said, straightening his tie. He practically jumped again when he felt Clover’s arm snake around his waist and pull him closer so that they were side by side.

“Miss Schnee, questions already? The semester hasn’t even started,” Clover laughed.

“Oh! No, it can wait!” Weiss said, curtseying in the doorway. “Sorry for interrupting!”

“We’ll talk later, Miss Schnee,” Clover smiled.

“Alright,” she nodded back. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the office, closing the door on her way out, and leaving Qrow completely dumbfounded as to what just happened. They’d been discovered by a student, something which was totally inappropriate, and something which could be reported. They hadn’t even reported their relationship to human resources yet, and for a student to be the one to out them? Qrow could only imagine the lectures from Glynda.

But that didn’t matter to Qrow right now.

Clover didn’t jump away from him.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

He pulled him back, even after being discovered.

He wasn’t embarrassed to be with Qrow.

“Qrow? Are you okay?”

He felt the hand first, mirroring the one he’d placed on Clover’s face earlier. It turned his head with care, and Clover’s teal eyes looked over him with concern, though Qrow was unaware of the expression he was currently wearing. Clover’s other hand came up to Qrow’s face as well, and Qrow felt as though he were being held as one would hold something treasured.

“You weren’t ashamed of me…”

Qrow saw the brief look of pain on Clover’s face before Clover surged forward, and kissed Qrow deeper than before. Qrow was surprised, to say the least. Was that what it felt like to have someone take your breath away? He felt every emotion Clover was trying to convey as they held each other, intimately in the now closed office space. Eventually, Clover broke the kiss, without stepping away from Qrow.

“Of course I’m not,” Clover grinned from ear to ear. “I’m the luckiest man in the world to be able to kiss you.”

Qrow laughed as Clover peppered him with smaller pecks in an effort to lower the emotional level in the room, though whether it was Qrow’s or his own emotions that he was trying to reign in was unknown to Qrow. After another minute or two, they stepped apart, panting slightly, and positively beaming. Qrow took his seat back behind his desk, holding his hand out in a gesture towards the chair in front of him, and Clover took it.

The two talked about their schedules for the semester, and started planning when they’d have office hours. Last semester, Qrow had made sure to line up all of his office hours with Clover’s teaching schedule so they wouldn’t interact. This time, he lined up office hours as best as he could with Clover, so that way if things were slow, they could chat or grade papers together, and they’d both be able to get off of work at a decent time. The same time.

As they chatted, Qrow steadily worked on his scone. Every now and then, he’d break off a small piece and give it to Clover, who gratefully took it. Once or twice, in a playful mood, Clover opened his mouth instead of holding out his hand, earning an eye roll from Qrow, before Clover surrendered and extended his hand for the offering.

“By the way, we’re going to have to start working on that anthology soon,” Qrow said.

“So, you’ll do it?” Clover asked, perking up.

“Sure, it sounds like fun,” Qrow nodded. “Actually, that’s why I was reading your collection. I want to know what kind of poet I’ll be working with.”  
“I’ll be sure to meet and exceed your every expectation of me,” Clover smirked this time, leaning forward in his chair a bit. “Careful, Mr. Branwen. Don’t let me outshine you.”

“Careful, Mr. Perfect. Don’t let your poetry get swallowed up by my pieces.,” Qrow returned, with every ounce of energy he could muster to match Clover’s attitude.

“There’s one I haven’t been called in a while,” Clover laughed.

“Well until I find a better word than ‘perfect,’ you’re going to have to get used to that one.”

“As long as you’re the one calling me that,” Clover reached across the table and placed a hand on one of Qrow’s, “I’ll know it’s sincere.”

Qrow felt the color rise to his cheeks, and it was his turn to look away from the man sitting across from him. He laughed as he did so though, thinking about how nice it felt to be able to casually flirt with his boyfriend in a normal, everyday setting.

Oh yes, this was something he could get used to indeed.

* * *

Qrow’s first few classes of the day went by alright. He’d been lucky enough this semester to only be slotted for fiction courses, so he wouldn’t have to teach something he wasn’t totally comfortable with. Sure, he enjoyed teaching classes like Critical Reading or the Fables class every now and then, but what he loved more than anything about teaching was working with the students in the fiction and advanced fiction classes. He liked to watch their minds at work and watch them develop over the course of their time at Beacon, since odds were, he’d have the students multiple times.

The first section of fiction students seemed to be a quiet bunch. Even after they did a few ice breakers, they hardly made any noises during class, which wasn’t something Qrow was entirely used to. He hoped that they would be a little chattier whenever they got around to doing workshops. Workshops were always an amazing tool for students to utilize, but a quiet workshop was not only nerve wracking for the one in the hotseat, but also unproductive for anyone and everyone taking part.

The second section was a lot more talkative than the first, but they still behaved within reason. Contrary to semesters past, Qrow was actually excited to see the enthusiasm in the students. Whether or not it was misplaced, or if he’d be proven wrong later, that was another matter entirely. But he paid attention as he told the students about some of the things they’d be doing, and watching their reactions actually made Qrow feel lighter on his feet.

Truth be told, most of his classes had similar reactions in the past, so Qrow couldn’t figure out why he was feeling different this time around. Sure, it would be a lot of work, but the students seemed absolutely thrilled when he started talking about the portfolios. Inspired by his flexibility with Blake, Qrow made an amendment to the portfolio composition. When students realized that they could work on a long piece as opposed to a collection of short prose pieces, Qrow could have sworn that he’d just told some of the students that it was Christmas.

Before long, he was at his last class of the day, and the one he was looking forward to the most, his Advanced Fiction class. It was a class he always looked forward to, since it was students at the end of their education, who have had all four years to hone their craft, presenting their best selves in every shape and form. This was where he got to see the transformative work, where he got to see some immense breakthroughs from his students, and where he was most able to lend a guiding hand.

With an uncharacteristically large smile for him, for the first day of the semester, and for a class that was late in the afternoon, he walked into the room, taking his place at the podium. Blake and Neptune were sitting in the front row, both looking rested after all of the travelling that they’d done for the study abroad. He also noticed a few other students from the past semester, and he remembered enjoying their work.

“So, you pretty much all know me,” Qrow began, “and for those few of you who haven’t had a class with me yet, you’ll catch on real fast.”

Qrow was uncharacteristically light on his feet as he began the class. They did the typical housecleaning things such as introductions and interesting facts before they rolled right into discussing the syllabus. When he presented the actual calendar though, the students’ jaws dropped open.

Every day was a workshop.

“In your classes up until now, you’ve been reading short stories and working on prompts from your professors,” Qrow started. “But not here. I’ll start every class with a small, warm-up prompt, but from that point on, it’s all on you.”

“What about assignments?”

“You can work on whatever you want to,” Qrow replied. “However, it does have to be fiction. You will have the entire semester to work on one of two things: a novel or a portfolio. You can choose whichever you like, and we will use workshop periods to review the work you produce. Since there’s ten of you, we will workshop five of you every day, so please make sure to constantly upload your work for us to review.”

“What if we commit to one, but stall out halfway through?”

“That’s part of writing. As long as I see progress, that’s enough for me,” Qrow said. “However, I do want to see actual progress, and work you can be proud of. If I think it’s not up to the standard which you’re capable of, then we’ll have to talk. I’m here for you all, so please, I encourage you, make ample use of my office hours.”

“Is there any extra credit in this course?”

“Sure,” Qrow nodded. “Same as usual. Go to an open mic night and perform there. Have a friend record it and send it to me. Sometimes, depending on your piece, open mic nights can be a good initial review, to see what people think of your pieces. Now then…any more questions?”

Silence fell over the room.

“Okay then, first warmup prompt…”

He knew that students complained about having to do work on syllabus week, but in all honesty, every professor would be assigning work this week. He had no idea where the notion came from that the first week of class was supposed to be assignment-free, but it was a notion that made him laugh every time he started a new semester.

Regardless, his students were soon busy scribbling away at their papers. It was always interesting to watch them work in front of them, as they all had different creative styles and habits. He saw Neptune asking Blake for synonyms once or twice, before she offered him her thesaurus, which he graciously accepted. A girl at the back of the class kept randomly popping up with a confused look on her face, before Qrow could practically see the lightbulb turn on, and she’d immediately tunnel on her assignment once more.

Blake worked at a steady pace, with her pen never stopping, never leaving the paper. He remembered the pieces she submitted in the past, all with narrators who spoke in a stream of consciousness style, but it was fascinating to watch her work. Qrow knew that he favored that style as well, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was guilty of the exact same kinds of quirks. Often times whenever he tunneled on something, he could work in one position for hours until he eventually resurfaced from the rabbit hole he went down.

As the class drew to a conclusion, the students began to pack up and leave. Neptune hung back for a moment, waiting for Blake, but she waved him out of the room, leaving only Qrow and Blake behind.

“Ah, Blake! Is there something I can do for you?” Qrow asked absentmindedly as he put his notebook into his bag.

“Forgive me for being nosy,” Blake started, “but I just wanted to wish you congratulations.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what for,” Qrow chuckled, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping out from behind the podium. “I haven’t done anything of note recently.”

“Well…Weiss told us what she saw this morning,” Blake admitted sheepishly.

“Oh…” Qrow said, voice trailing off. “You…you won’t tell anyone…will you?”

“What? No, I would never!” Blake replied, waving her hands back and forth in front of her. “I just wanted to say I’m happy for you two. I think you’re good for one another.”

“You think so?” Qrow asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Totally,” Blake nodded. “Honestly, after Weiss told us you asked for her feedback on the poem…”

“Oh yeah, I still have to give her an F for telling you all.”

“…it was pretty obvious that there was something going on between you two. But you seemed a lot happier in class today, so I assumed that’s why.”

“Thank you, Blake,” Qrow nodded. “I am happy.”

“Good,” Blake nodded. “But you might actually want to tell Yang and Ruby. I don’t think they’re thrilled to find out about this through us.”

“As much as I agree with that statement, I can’t help but feel as though I’m the only one who should be concerned about my relationship status,” Qrow laughed. “I’ll tell my family when I want to. Remind me to give Weiss another F for telling you all.”

“To be fair, she thought she was the last to know,” Blake shrugged.

“Just my luck.”

“Either way, I should be on my way now,” Blake started walking. “Congrats again, Professor, we’re all happy for you.”

Qrow sighed as soon as Blake was out of earshot. It really would be his luck that people would find out about his relationship immediately. Sure, he had people to tell, but he wanted to be able to do so on his own terms. Though he couldn’t exactly blame Weiss. He was the one who left his office door open this morning, and she was the one who thought that she’d be able to come in to ask something. Unfortunately, that’s now exactly how it played out, but Qrow would just have to learn to live with it.

He looked down at his phone, which had been off since lunch time, and saw an absolute mountain of unread messages.

Most of them were from Summer and Tai, with a few from raven. Ruby and Yang both just texted him short congratulatory messages, but they all expressed the same thing, a desire to talk to Qrow and learn the whole story. But that wasn’t something he wanted to do right now. He could put that off until later. Before he had the chance to put his phone in his pocket, it buzzed one more time, but this time it was Clover, with a simple message.

_One day down. Dinner at my place?_

Qrow smiled before typing his confirmation. There was a slight spring in his step as he started walking back towards his office to collect the rest of his things from the day, which now included Clover’s poetry collection. He texted Clover to ask if he was still in the office, or if Clover had gone ahead.

_Already at my place, wanted to make sure you didn’t have to wait too long for something warm._

The walk over to Clover’s apartment at this point was starting to become familiar, though this time Qrow was in a completely different state while making the walk. The first time he’d set out on the path, he’d been semi-conscious, and absolutely exhausted. Now he was wide awake and was going to Clover’s with the expectations of a hot meal and a nice evening in with his beloved.

He stopped for a moment, and just paused on the thought one more time of being able to call Clover that.

Qrow beamed as the thought warmed him inside and out, and he skipped for a few steps before falling back into a walking pace that should have him at his destination in no time. Once inside the building, he wasted no time getting up to Clover’s apartment. This time, when Clover greeted him, he was in an actual state of dress that didn’t resemble pajamas, unlike last time. He was still in his button up shirt from work, though the sleeves were rolled up. He apparently decided to change out his slacks for jeans though, not that Qrow could complain.

“Hey baby bird.”

“Hey Cloves.”

Clover pulled him in for a quick hug, pecking his cheek as he did so, and Qrow held him a little tighter in response. After a moment or two, the stepped apart, and Qrow shut the door to the apartment behind him. He kicked off his shoes and followed Clover inside, into the apartment that he’d come to adore, since every bit of it was the man that he loved. From the potted ivies and walls of books down to the smaller accents. Qrow couldn’t help but feel his heart swell when he saw Lucky, the pot of clovers, in the apartment, still as green and as well taken care of as the day he’d brought them over.

“It smells heavenly in here,” Qrow commented, as the aroma from the kitchen was wafting throughout the apartment. “What are we having?”

“Nothing major, just some stew,” Clover said. “I saw this recipe and wanted to try it out.”

“Trying something new?” Qrow laughed. “I’m excited.”

“I’m glad,” Clover winked. “But if you want, you can help me make a dessert.”

“Sound fun to me,” Qrow nodded.

As the stew simmered, Qrow listened to Clover as they began to make some cookies. Qrow was doing most of the measuring, while Clover was doing the mixing. Soon enough, they had a good-looking dough, and Qrow assisted Clover with pre-scooping the dough. Clover said they had to let it rest while they ate the stew, and they could bake them afterwards, though they still had an hour or so until the stew was done. In the tiny kitchen, Qrow was all too aware of Clover’s every motion. He found himself being entranced, watching Clover’s hands fly as he worked with precision to mix and scoop the dough, setting a timer here, checking a timer there, all the while holding light conversation with Qrow.

They talked about their day, and Clover’s sounded just about as eventful as Qrow’s. The students were promising, the classes would be fun, all that jazz. Once they finally finished scooping a majority of the dough, they decided to start cleaning. Qrow had volunteered to clean the dishes since Clover had done most of the prep work and actual cooking, which Clover definitely didn’t say no to. Clover was handing Qrow things left and right, both from Clover’s dinner preparations and the dessert making. Soon enough, through all of their conversation and all of Qrow’s scrubbing, the pile of dishes was almost gone.

“Okay Cloves, now for the mixing bowl.”

“Uh huh.”

“Could you hand it to me?” Qrow said, back towards Clover, hand stuck out behind him.

“Look this way for a moment,” Clover instructed, and Qrow did as he was told.

The reward was a large glob of cookie dough smeared on Qrow’s shirt.

It wasn’t one he was particularly attached to, but the action itself was probably the last thing Qrow expected Clover to do. Clover, who was just standing there, a few feet away, doubled over in laughter as he stared up at his boyfriend, painted in some of the remaining cookie dough.

“Did…did you just…”

“I don’t know,” Clover said, tears forming in his eyes from his merriment. He beckoned Qrow to come closer, which Qrow did.

The reward was another large glob of cookie dough smeared on Qrow’s face.

“You tell me!”

“Oh my god,” Qrow couldn’t fight back the laughter anymore. “If I didn’t just help you clean this kitchen, you’d be getting this, tenfold, Mister.”

“Oh, come on, you look so much sweeter now!” Clover took his finger and wiped a little bit of the cookie dough off of Qrow’s face, before licking it. He made a puzzled face for a moment, before the smile took its rightful place again, and Clover laughed. “Yup, that’s definitely sweeter.”

“You are so mature,” Qrow rolled his eyes, covering his mouth as he chuckled. “I need to use your shower. You, mister, are going to clean up the rest of this.”

“You know, that’s fair,” Clover nodded.

Qrow walked back into Clover’s bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes before making his way back to the bathroom. He discarded his soiled clothes and stepped into the tub. In moments, the hot spray started running down his body, and he scrubbed away the cookie dough, as well as the rest of the day’s grime. He used the lavender scented shampoos and soaps, and once he was certain that he smelled like himself again, and not school and confectionary goods, Qrow turned off the water.

He looked down at his choice of clothing, an oversized, army green sweatshirt, and some black sweatpants. Qrow put his own underwear back on, and pulled Clover’s clothes on, before he paused for a moment. If Clover could mess with him, two could play that game. Qrow discarded the sweatpants, opting to leave the bathroom in only the sweatshirt and his own underwear. This was usually something that he’d wear around his own apartment anyways, so if he was dating Clover, Clover would have to get used to the look.

If they moved in together at some point, he would definitely have to get used to Qrow not wearing pants around the apartment. Sure, most of the time he wasn’t doing it to be sexy or anything, he just hated wearing pants when he was at home. Sometimes, being in slacks or jeans for such long hours just got to Qrow, causing him to forego them entirely once he was back in his own abode.

“I’ll be out in a moment, Cloves,” Qrow called, door still closed.

“Okay, did you find something you like?”

“Yeah,” Qrow replied. “I also found some clothes, too.”

“Okay,” Clover said. “Feel free to chill in the living room. I’m going to get some pajamas from my room and get cleaned up too.”

When Qrow stepped out of the bathroom, the door to Clover’s bedroom was shut, so he supposed that his choice of outfit would have to wait for a moment. He walked over to the living room, and started looking over all of the plants again, this time including Lucky. He was glad that Clover had been so receptive of the gift, even if he didn’t fully believe in it himself at first.

Soon, Qrow turned on the television and started flipping through channels. He didn’t feel like watching any movies, and the shows that were on didn’t look appealing to him. He pondered looking through some of Clover’s streaming services, though those catalogues were often massive, and he didn’t have the attention span for something like that at present. In the end, Qrow figured out how to connect his phone to a Bluetooth speaker somewhere in Clover’s living room, and he started playing some music.

Even though it was the dead of winter, and Qrow was only wearing half of an outfit, he decided jazz would be appropriate. Normally this would’ve been the time for classical music, but the lack of a roaring fire seemed to dissuade him from the idea, so jazz won out. As the sweet tones of the tunes started tumbling out of the speakers, Qrow stood up, and found himself moving around the apartment, or rather gliding to the music. He allowed himself to get swept away as he recognized one of the songs, and started humming along.

As Qrow danced around the apartment, he didn’t hear the door to the bathroom open, nor did he hear the approaching footsteps. He found himself purposefully teetering, spinning every now and then, with one hand tucked into his body, and the other held above his head, as though he were performing some sort of stage number with an imaginary partner. As the singer’s voice grew louder and louder, Qrow couldn’t help but sing along, lyrics escaping his own raspy throat. In his complete state of innocent joy, Qrow finished the number off and whirled around, as if he were showing off for an audience at the end of a long concert.

But instead of a large audience, there was only a shirtless Clover, wearing the sweatpants Qrow had originally picked out.

Qrow’s embarrassment quickly faded as he stared in awe at Clover.

Even after his shower, Clover still made sure to fix his hair, though there was still a hint of dampness to it. There were a few droplets of water on his glistening torso, which was a mix of built and defined, though it wasn’t overwhelmingly either of those. That was something that Qrow loved about Clover’s the more times he saw it. The man clearly worked out, but he didn’t look as though he stepped straight out of photoshop. Still, he’d worked hard to maintain a figure that well, and Qrow was more than willing to appreciate it. Qrow also noticed that what little body hair Clover had was well kept, and you could almost miss the hair on his chest if you weren’t looking for it. The trail that he had leading from his navel down into his waistband was properly manscaped as well.

Speaking of his waist, even from his position about ten feet away, he could still very clearly make out Clover’s hip bones and the faintest definition. By this point, Qrow was well aware that he was staring, though he’d completely forgotten about his original mission to make Clover short-circuit with his choice of clothes for the evening. He’d been expertly counter played as his attention fell to the sweatpants he’d discarded in the bathroom after his shower. The sweatpants he’d chosen would have been a little bit baggy on Qrow, though they seemed to hug Clover quite nicely.

“Holy…Qrow,” Clover breathed.

“What?”

“You look…you look amazing,” Clover said softly, walking over towards Qrow, hands immediately falling on his hips.

“Me? Look at yourself!” Qrow replied. “I’m nothing compared to you.”

“Clearly I need to get you a mirror,” Clover said, quickly kissing Qrow’s forehead. “Oh my god, I knew you were picking out some of my clothes, but…you’re so handsome, songbird.”

“Songbird? Again?”

“Qrow, you were just performing a Jazz number in my living room.”

“Yeah?”

“Wearing the sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen you in.”

“I mean together we have a whole outfit here.”

“You just looked really happy doing it,” Clover smiled. “I’m really glad to see you happier nowadays.”

Qrow stepped closer to Clover, wrapping his arms around him, charting a line of kisses from Clover’s cheek to his lips, softly and methodically. He allowed himself to pour his emotion out into each kiss, each tender touch, each gentle caress, as he slowly stroked his fingers up and down Clover’s bare back absentmindedly.

“I have you to thank for that,” Qrow smiled against Clover’s mouth. Qrow allowed himself to be swept away again as he dove back in to resume the kiss. At first, they were slow and careful, but each time they separated for a breath, they came back hungrier. He could feel Clover giving him as much as he was giving in return, as he raised a hand to the back of Clover’s head, pulling him to deepen the kiss even more so.

Qrow felt the faintest of bites at his bottom lip, which cause Qrow to part them, and when he went in again, Clover’s tongue pushed against his own. Qrow had been used to doing this with many other people in the past, but Clover was different. Clover wasn’t as domineering as his past lovers had been. If anything, Clover was explorative, he was reverent, he was careful. A small moan escaped from Qrow, and Clover took that as a cue to continue doing what he was, and Qrow was letting himself get lost in every sensation.

He felt Clover’s hands steadily work their way up underneath the sweatshirt, caressing his bare skin with the gentlest of ease. In return, Qrow aloud his own hands to roam, to explore the expanse that was Clover’s toned torso and sun-kissed skin, even in the dead of winter. As Qrow’s hand slowly approached Clover’s waist, it worked its way around, and Qrow dragged his knuckles across that expanse of skin just above the fabric hem, which elicited a moan from Clover in return.

Clover hummed against Qrow’s lips as they both dared to discover other parts about their lover. Qrow flattened his hand, and started moving upward, feeling of Clover’s muscles underneath his palm. Eventually, it came to a rest on Clover’s chest, and he felt the man breathe deeply. He felt the rise and fall of his chest as Qrow sped up in the kiss, leaning into Clover more.

Of course, Clover’s hands roamed as well. They caressed Qrow’s sides and his back as they went along, brushing against different parts of him. Clover moved as though he was going to take off Qrow’s sweatshirt, and Qrow raised his arms to allow it to slide off without any resistance. They parted only for a moment, as the fabric passed in front of Qrow’s face, before they both moved together, claiming each other as they’d been wanting to do so for so long.

Qrow pulled Clover backwards after Clover tossed the sweatshirt aside, and soon enough they started reclining on the couch, with Qrow underneath, but Clover approaching him with the utmost devotion. He was careful as he positioned himself over Qrow, careful as to not put too much of his weight on top of the man, concern in his face. Qrow brough his hands up on either side of Clover and pulled his face closer.

“You’re so beautiful,” Qrow whispered, and Clover’s face changed from cautious to elated.

It was perhaps the first time Qrow had been able to let himself say something like that while being intimate with another person. It wasn’t even a premeditated thought, but more a truth that he felt compelled to speak. Clover placed on hand on Qrow’s bare chest before he leaned into yet another kiss. One became two, two became more. Clover moved both of his hands to be on either side of Qrow, and he allowed his body to be flush against Qrow’s on the couch as they both started feeling lightheaded from the kissing.

Moments later, Clover lowered his mouth, and started sucking at Qrow’s neck, which caused him to hiss and moan with pleasure as he felt Clover’s hot breath and divine mouth set to work. Qrow’s hands came to Clover’s hair, and as Clover’s actions became more intense, Qrow’s grip tightened, though it never became something painful, as he was sure to avoid that. Satisfied with his job, Qrow’s hand came up underneath Clover’s chin, and he pulled the man up to kiss him once again.

Qrow had been addicted to many things, but of them, none of them were remotely as sweet or as desirable as kissing Clover. Though Clover was no drug, he was no amber liquid that threatened to erase his being. He was no promiscuous partner to be avoided after an hour or so of fun. No. While those things had once tried to convince Qrow that they were everything he needed, they had all failed.

Qrow felt his own chest rise, as he allowed himself to be completely lost in the moment with his beloved.

His beloved.

His beloved.

He was Clover’s beloved.

The very though caused him to love Clover with an intensity that was almost frightening to himself. He’d never dared to love anyone this much in the past, for the fear of losing them or being used, but every bit of Qrow’s body told him that Clover was right for him. He wouldn’t need a safety net. He wouldn’t need to hold back. Qrow had thought that he’d taken from Clover in the past, since the man had taken care of him so many times, in the most unexpected circumstances.

But now he could return the favor.

Qrow could give him his love.

He looked into Clover’s teal eyes, searching for something.

But before he could find it, he heard a timer go off in the kitchen, which earned a groan from the both of them.

“We could always eat later,” Clover said, voice husky. As soon as the words left his mouth though, Qrow heard a loud, grumbling sound, and he looked up at Clover, which he thought was the point of origin.

“Should we just eat now?”

“Or we could eat now. I guess that works stomach, thanks.”

Qrow couldn’t help but snicker at that, earning an eye roll and a playful pout from Clover.

“Aww, come on now, beloved, nothing to pout over,” Qrow teased, poking Clover in the nose.

“I just wanted to keep kissing you,” Clover admitted freely.

“Oh…well we can do that later too,” Qrow said, blushing.

They replaced the stew in the oven with the pre-scooped cookie dough, before they grabbed a couple of bowls and started dishing out the dinner. Once again, Clover’ culinary prowess exceeded all expectations, as Qrow felt the meal warm every bit of him from the first bite to the last. The man was a wizard with spices, and he was surely blessed by the gods based on the way he conducts himself in the kitchen. Qrow made a mental note to call Daisy and tell her thank you for teaching her son how to cook so well.

As the evening began to wear down, Clover and Qrow took their spot on the couch. Qrow was sitting up, and Clover had his head in Qrow’s lap, looking up at him as they talked about various bits of news they’d heard from their families since the trip. While Clover was speaking, Qrow found himself playing with Clover’s hair. He stopped twice, which caused Clover to go silent until he resumed his ministrations. Each time, he earned a smile from Clover, one where he scrunched his nose slightly, and his eyes closed. The second time it happened, Qrow seized the opportunity, as well as his advantageous positioning, to quickly kiss the smile that he’d grown to love over the past few months.

Every experience was something new, and Qrow couldn’t wait to be able to learn everything about Clover, though for the time being, he just did what he could, which was sneaking a kiss here or there, and taking every opportunity to affirm his love for the man who looked up at him with a balanced adoration and a measured care.

Qrow didn’t ever want to leave.

Where Clover was, that’s where he wanted to be.

He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here! I know that this is a little bit of a shorter chapter, but after the roller coaster that was the study abroad trip, which was immediately followed by the confession and the flashback, I just really wanted to have a lighthearted chapter. I just wanted them to be able to have a moment where they could be soft with one another, and they could just really enjoy living in the love they have for one another. There's still several plot points left, and I threw in a little bit of some of them here, but ultimately, I just really wanted a chapter where I could let them just relax and enjoy their mutual love. It's what they deserve after so much stress.
> 
> Please, please, please let me know what you think! Your continued support seriously makes my heart so full, and it makes me so motivated to continue working on the story, even with all of the bad going on right now. I'm really glad to know that I'm doing something that's making people happy, and I want to be able to continue doing that for you all.
> 
> As always, you can follow me on my tumblr for more details about the story, and for the links to the new chapters as soon as they're live. Please be sure to leave a comment, letting me know what you thought about the chapter, and I will see you all next time!
> 
> All my love,  
> Jelly


	14. Outdated Inhibitions and Modern Inspirations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter contains content mentioning a past abusive relationship, as well as past substance use.

Qrow took pride in being able to read his students’ moods. Unlike his coworkers or his friends, students had certain tells. Of course, it had taken him a few years of practice to get to his current proficiency of translating the subtle signs. Most of the time it was difficult to tell just from their appearance alone. Most students in his classes looked like they stayed up late into the night either making bad decisions typical with college life or doing way too much work while substituting sleep for coffee.

No, with his students, the signs were in their works.

He could get a good sense of someone’s writing style after a few assignments. Few times did someone stray outside of their usual style, unless of course they were forced out of it by Qrow through some difficult assignments. But every now and then, he could read the struggle between the lines, a lack of style, a loss of drive, a meaning missing behind the words.

So, it was no surprise to Qrow when he found Neptune Vasilias waiting outside his office for office hours one morning.

It was interesting to see how different he was when he thought he was alone. Over the course of the study abroad, Qrow saw him morph from the “cool guy” in the back of the class to a bit more of a louder, theatrical personality as he opened up to the people around him. He was a little cocky sometimes, and he had a bit of a flair for dramatizations while reading his work out loud. Though of the students on the trip, much like Weiss, he still was responsible, turning in all of his work early.

In class, Neptune had a confident posture, and whenever he was asked to give his opinion, he would straighten up and pause for a moment, as if he was giving everyone a moment to pay attention to him, and only him. He made quite the entrance by turning in a short story that was ten pages long, and readable both forwards and backwards, much like a reversible poem read from the last line up. He liked the attention, and his works were complex and symbolic enough to garner the attention and praise from his classmates.

But here in the lonely hallway, he looked as though he were trying to make himself seem as small as possible. Neptune was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, and a large sweater engulfing most of his form. His usually styled, aqua hair fell down across his forehead. He shifted his weight slightly, curling tighter into himself. In his hands, he held a to-go cup, probably full of coffee, and while the rest of his body seemed wracked with tension, he held the cup as though it were fragile and would break under more than a few ounces of force.

As Qrow approached, Neptune’s head snapped in his direction, eyes, wide, in a motion so fast that it startled Qrow a little bit.

“Oh.”

“Good morning, Mr. Vasilias,” Qrow greeted him. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi professor,” Neptune said. “I was hoping you could give me a bit of advice.”

“Sure thing,” Qrow nodded, reaching into his pocket to grab his office keys. “Come on in.”

Neptune was slow to stand up from his position on the floor, and by the time he shuffled into Qrow’s office, Qrow had already put down his bag and taken his place behind his desk. Neptune turned around slowly as he made his way towards the chair in front of Qrow’s desk, observing all of the books on the shelves and various furniture in the small, slightly cleaned up office. For a moment, he stepped closer to one of the bookshelves, observing the titles, before he perked up for a moment, and shook his head as he stepped away, and finally approached Qrow.

Neptune did not look tired like the typical troubled student who came into his office. Qrow was no stranger to the sheepish scholar asking for an extension on an assignment because of some random excuse, legitimate or not. If anything, he just looked distressed. Sure, he’d given the students another deadline for an update on their portfolios by the end of the first week of February, but that was still a few days away.

“Are you doing alright, Neptune?”

“Yeah, well, no, just a little out of it I guess,” Neptune replied, brushing his hair away from his face, and taking a big gulp from his coffee cup. He paused for a moment, trying to think of the best way to word the question, but restarting a few times. Eventually, Neptune took a deep breath and spoke up. “I’ve…kind of gotten some writer’s block.”

“Oh?” Qrow tilted his head in curiosity. Sure, writer’s block was bad, but there were a number of ways around it, and surely Neptune was clever enough to utilize the tools which could be provided to him. “Need me to give you some prompts to jumpstart your motivation?”

“I don’t think that will work,” Neptune shook his head. “It’s more like I’ve lost my inspiration.”

Uh oh.

From his writing style, Qrow had always been able to tell that Neptune’s symbolism was different than the other students. Most of the time, his works had a tone to them that was sadder than those of the rest of his classmates. They focused heavily on a sense of isolation, of distance, of yearning, of loss, of the unobtainable. They asked the reader to put themselves in difficult situations, and realistically imagine the pain that the narrator went through.

Yet two things set his works apart. The first being the realism, and the second being the experience.

Many times, Qrow encouraged his students to branch out, to challenge themselves with difficult stories or by writing characters that were so different from themselves that they would be forced to step outside of their comfort zones. He challenged them to write unreliable narrators, to write from the darker parts of their minds sometimes, or to write from something that was so unequivocally different that they would have no choice but to double down into the research and consideration of the characters they were creating.

Some of his students could pull it off with much effort. Some students wrote characters so accurately that Qrow wondered how different the character was from the narrator. Some refused to try the exercise at all, much to what Qrow would call their own detriment. Neptune, however, wrote the different, but still found a way to put genuine pain into the work, and not something born of the character, but of the character within the narrative. All of the messages hidden between the words seemed grounded deeply within Neptune.

The intensity of the images, the ferocity of the feelings, the depth of the despair, and the broad spectrum of speculations within the stories was something that only came with time…time and a firsthand account of such suffering and sorrow. The more Qrow thought it over, the more he struggled to remember reading a single happy work that belonged to the blue-haired boy. Despite the difference in his works, the origin of the suffering and metaphors in his story could be connected if one looked at them closely. They all had one thing in common.

A longing.

A longing for something so holy in the eyes of the author. It was like crawling through a mile of brambles just to reach a treasure that was on the other side of yet another mile of taunting thorns. Yet while the longing was painful, there was a sense of worth from it. If they could just obtain what was beyond reach, beyond sight, beyond scope, it would be as if everything the character endured would be washed away, like footprints on the beach during high tide.

This was a double-edged sword.

Since he was so practiced in his work and his message, he could pull it off better than anyone else. Anyone familiar with Neptune’s works would be able to tell it was his, even without reading the author’s name. He had a niche, and he could very easily create within that niche. If he ever wanted to go into professional writing, no doubt his novels would make a killing, dramatic and intense as they were.

However, the specialty writing meant that all of his eggs were in the same basket, and for someone in his position to lose his source of inspiration…

Footprints?

Meet the tide.

“I was wondering if you knew how I could get it back,” Neptune said. “Well…without having to go back that is.”

Qrow sat back in his chair and thought for a moment.

“Are you talking about an inspiration or a muse?” Qrow asked.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Neptune replied.

“Well, Mr. Vasilias, I’m inclined to believe that your source of inspiration isn’t so much something that can be returned to you, since it’s something that’s beyond your control,” Qrow explained. “From your themes, I’d say that you’re inspired more by a person.”

“W-well…” Neptune stuttered.

“And given the nature of your work, I’d say the nature of your relationship with your muse has changed, so your usual well of ideas is tapped out,” Qrow mused. “At least, that’s how I’m interpreting it.”

“No, you’re right,” Neptune sighed, gazing at his hands in his lap. “I just…well…I’m happy…and I’m not used to being this happy.”

The way his expression shifted when he spoke nearly broke Qrow’s heart, as the boy’s sentiment mirrored his own. His face lit up in an instant, but then the uncertainty smothered out the light as fast as it came. It was one thing for Qrow to feel that way after so many years, but to be experiencing that at Neptune’s age was difficult. It definitely ages young adults and children far too quickly to live a life of strife.

“I’m no therapist,” Qrow said, “but I’ve got two ears if you want to talk about it.”

Neptune looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and shock, which again made Qrow feel sad for the young man. It was as though no one had ever told him that they would be willing to listen to him, and suddenly Neptune’s initial “aloof, cool guy” persona started making a lot more sense.

“Do you mean that?”

“I’ve got the sticker on my door, don’t I?”

The safe space sticker was one of Glynda’s initiatives to raise student morale during troubling times. It was supposed to let students know that they should feel comfortable sharing anything with the professors who placed it on their door or nameplate outside of their office. Everyone in the English department adopted it initially, which spread the program campus-wide, though Qrow had seen far less professors in other departments sporting the sticker.

Neptune’s gaze shifted between his hands and Qrow’s general direction a few times, as he looked to be having what was some sort of internal debate. Qrow sat silently as it played out, waiting for Neptune to make the decision without being rushed. After a minute or two, Neptune closed his eyes and nodded.

“My family wasn’t…well they weren’t really much of one,” he began slowly, voice shaky. “Most of the time, when I was little, I was alone. Then in elementary school, I met a kid my age who…I don’t know…he made me feel like I mattered. He is my best friend, and we grew up together. Even when my own family acted like I didn’t exist, he was always looking for me before anyone else. By the time I was in high school, I realized I…well…”

Neptune fell silent for a moment, a look of distrust coming up on his face, a look Qrow knew all too well as one that he had given many people throughout his life.

“It’s okay. Professor Ebi is a pretty great boyfriend to me,” Qrow smiled, and the tension and suspicion immediately left Neptune as he perked up a bit more. “I thought Weiss or Blake would have told you by now, since you’re friends with them.”

“No! I had no idea! But that’s cool!” Neptune smiled.

“Is this about that Sun guy I keep hearing about?”

“Yeah,” Neptune blushed. “That’s him. Anyways, I had realized I’d fallen for him, and it felt like no matter what I did, I couldn’t ever be the one who he looked at. I was always his best friend, and he would always introduce me to all of his girlfriends whenever he started dating a new one. He would talk about wanting to have a wife and kids one day and it just kind of ate at me. But before the study abroad, he told me that he realized something and well…long story short, we got together.”

“Congratulations,” Qrow smiled. “You must be ecstatic!”

“I am!” Neptune beamed, but the smile fell from his face. “But that’s the problem. When I started writing, it was of a want to be recognized by my family, but Sun overwrote all of that. Now that we’re together…a lot of those feelings of longing and loneliness have vanished. You see where I’m going with this?”

“You don’t think you can write the genuine themes you’re known for since your own feelings of yearning have disappeared?”

“Exactly,” Neptune declared.

“So why not try something else?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Why not give something else a shot?” Qrow repeated. “Neptune, you capture emotion brilliantly in your writing, and no doubt the skills are transferrable. If the nature of your relationship with your muse has shifted, wouldn’t it make sense for your writing’s focus to shift as well?”

“But…I’ve never written anything else,” Neptune said, confidence faltering.

“Good,” Qrow smiled. “This is why we have workshops. You can get other people’s opinion on your new style. If you feel your old inspiration or feelings ever returning, you can go back to it if you wish, but part of writing is always adapting and changing. I mean, just look at any author. We’re always changing.”

“You’re right,” Neptune sighed. “I guess I need to take after you and Professor Ebi.”

“How so?”

“Well now that I know you two are together, some of your character inspirations make more sense,” Neptune laughed. “As for Professor Ebi, _Heart on Fire_ is so different! Forgive me for saying, but that’s pretty iconic for the two of you to write about each other in secret.”

“Okay, now I don’t follow,” Qrow said, tilting his head in confusion. “I’ve never written something inspired by Clover.”

“But surely, you’ve read his stuff, right?”

“Uh…”

“Oh man, when I read that collection before taking his class, I just started carrying it around with me everywhere because it reminded me of how I felt about Sun,” Neptune started rambling, eyes wandering the room as he did so, as if he was reading the poems written in different places all over the room. “Gosh, to think that that’s about you…you must feel really lucky!”

“I…”

“What did you think of the title poem the first time you read it? I think I would die if Sun made something like that about me,” Neptune continued, completely oblivious to his professor’s profound lack of knowledge. “In a good way though! I mean for real! I would…oh wait hang on, sorry.”

There was a loud buzz, and Neptune pulled his phone out of his pocket. He smiled so widely that Qrow didn’t even have to venture a guess as to who it was.

“Is it okay if I go? I’ll work on what you told me,” Neptune explained, holding the phone up closer to his ear. Qrow nodded, and Neptune returned the motion, as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. As he opened the door back out into the hallway, Qrow faintly heard Neptune say a faint, but loving greeting.

But that was soon lost on Qrow as he immediately started searching for his departmental copy of _Heart on Fire_.

He looked through his bag before remembering Clover putting it somewhere on one of his bookshelves. Qrow crossed the room and started looking through the packed shelves, crammed full of books without much of any discernable ordering system. One of these days he really would go through and organize the books. Maybe he’d have a graduate teaching assistant help him do it. No, he never asked for any graduate teaching assistants before, and he wasn’t about to start for one of them to organize some bookshelves.

Though he did really want to find the collection.

He continued searching as thoroughly as possible, but without much of a memory of what the book’s spine looked like, he was forced to read every one, and his room was definitely not lacking in the book department. Time went on, and as his luck continued to fail him, his class time kept creeping up on him more and more, to the point where he was forced to abandon his search.

Oh well, he could always borrow a copy from Clover later.

* * *

A blank page.

Even after his conversation with Neptune that morning, Qrow was staring at a blank page.

Clover had a few appointments lined up for his office hours after class, so Qrow decided to wait for him and kill time by working on his pieces for the anthology until the appointments were over. Unfortunately, working on it had been a lot of the same recently, and that same was staring at a glaring, white screen, typing a sentence, deleting it, and staring all over again.

He hadn’t been able to think of a single idea.

Worst of all, after his conversation with Neptune, Qrow felt like a hypocrite.

For years now, Qrow got his inspiration from his vices, and his experiences with them. More often than not, he’d actually started his drafts while under the influence. There was a lot that he kept bottled inside, and he found that liquor was a good way for him to get it out.

No.

It wasn’t good.

It was a way.

He could see just how much his life had improved as he’d cut alcohol out of the picture. There were still some really bad days, days where he wished he could just open a bottle and drink to forget. But now he didn’t have to. He was starting to develop healthier coping mechanisms with Clover’s help, and soon, he’d be able to handle his episodes all on his own. As much as he liked having Clover there to help and support him during his moments of weakness, he didn’t like having to load all of that onto him. It was Qrow’s former problem, so he had to deal with it, and he was going to make sure that he could handle it on his own so he wouldn’t have to trouble Clover with it anymore.

Regardless, he used to spend many a night with a different bottle of amber liquid, a familiar burn in his throat, and hands flying across the keyboard. He would edit it in the days following, and he’d throw out parts that were truly unreadable. Of course, due to the unpredictability of his drunken state, his timeline for finishing novels was a bit varied. Sure, he was always working on them before, but he couldn’t guarantee quality for longer periods of times. After he broke things off with Ironwood, he didn’t write for six months, as much as it would have been a good vent for him. Instead, once he opened the bottle, that was it.

The newspapers once called him someone who suffered for his craft.

He hated that.

He hated the idolization of the term.

Qrow did not want anyone to think that he succeeded because of his vices, because that made them part of his identity, and that meant that others would undoubtedly follow the same patterns with the hopes of achieving success. Often times, it hurt Qrow when he heard someone say that they wanted to be an author like him following conversations about suffering artists, especially the ones who seemed excessively cheerful. All he pictured was them sitting on the floor, broken spirit, broken drive, broken bottle, broken everything.

As much as people would succeed on their own merits, there were still a few who would no doubt say that he was able to do what he did because of the liquor or because of his depression and anxiety, but that wasn’t true. Those things weren’t what defined him. They were afflictions that limited him, but now he was working harder and harder every day to get past them. Were they a source of material for him to draw from? Yes.

Were they healthy sources?

Most definitely not.

But Qrow had never figured out how to tap into his sources of inspiration without being under the influence. Sure, long ago he used to be able to write while he was sober, but he’d been writing in an altered state for years and years now, and he was struggling with returning to his days as a dewy-eyed author, ready to show the world what he could do.

What if the papers didn’t like his new works? What if they didn’t like his parts of the collection? What would they say then? Would they attribute it to his sobriety? Qrow wouldn’t be able to handle it if the papers said that his sobriety was the source of his failure, when it was something that he’d been working so hard at after all of this time. He wanted to show the people who read his books that he was a reborn author, and that he could succeed without his former shackles.

Now if only he could figure out how to make the words fill up the screen.

For a man of a million words, Qrow couldn’t find the words to be able to make a satisfactory introductory sentence. Something about the short story aspect made Qrow feel even worse about starting his portion of the book, because he’d have to repeat the “new story” process a countless amount of times until he was able to produce something even remotely on his level. He bet he’d scrap a massive number of stories before he could even come up with one that he found half decent, while Clover could spin gold at his fingertips with every poem he wrote.

He knew that Clover’s poems took some time to write, as evidenced by the fact that he spent at least a month between drafts of the poem he’d originally passed off as Blake’s, but Qrow wondered if Clover was faring any better than he was. Maybe Qrow could just write one story instead of so many short stories. He’d feel more comfortable but planning a longer work just brought back his fear of the critics. He was known for long form fiction, so if his short stories weren’t up to par, the media could just say it was a “bold venture into a new genre” for Qrow and brush it off as that. As insulting as that would be, being neither a positive nor negative review, Qrow would settle for that over a negative review about a return to long form.

Gods, why was finding inspiration something so difficult?

Qrow tried to think back on the advice he’d given to Neptune, but as someone who wrote heavier pieces himself, Qrow found himself at a bit of a loss. Maybe Clover could give him some ideas as to what he could do, since they were writing this anthology together after all.

Wait.

That was it.

Clover’s work.

If they were truly working on this piece together, what if their works were inspired by one another?

Clover could write a set number of poems, and Qrow could make short stories inspired by the poem. In return, Clover could pull inspiration for his remaining poems from the short stories Qrow drafted for him. It would be an interesting, yet playful way for their prose and poetry to interact within the bindings of a book. Of course, whether or not Clover would adopt the idea could be dependent on whether or not Qrow could come up with a good enough story based off of a poem. But which poem would he use? Could he change his own poem into a short story and give that to Clover, or could he use the poem that Clover played off as Blake’s?

After a few moments of deliberation, Qrow decided to write his first story using Clover’s poem as inspiration. He could adapt his own poem into prose later for Clover to play with in turn, but the idea would land better if he focused on Clover’s poem first. Qrow pulled out a notepad and wrote down the lines that he could remember, and the lines that he could pull into the story. He circled some, underlined certain lines so he could use those to test the waters, and he constructed a basic plot based off of the stanzas he could recall.

He could always ask Clover for the full poem later, but for right now, he set to work.

Qrow’s fingers started flying as he typed, slowing down only for a few moments here and there to verify his word choice, before speeding back up again. He was like a man possessed, working with the intensity he used to have in his early days as an author. He recalled a day long ago when he was just getting into writing. He had been typing furiously for some time, and when he finally called it for the day, Raven looked over at him with a concerned look on her face. She told him that he hadn’t moved in six hours, but his fingers never slowed down. At the time, it didn’t even feel like it had been two hours for Qrow.

But now, as he continued working in his office, he had an idea.

He had a goal.

He had a proposal for Clover.

As he continued writing his piece, the characters started to morph before his eyes. They were no longer random characters for the short story inspired by the characters in Clover’s poem. The more Qrow wrote, the more he started embedding pieces of himself and Clover into the characters. The emotions went from being crafted to genuine, and the set pieces went from imaginary to grounded in realism. He started pulling more and more from their lives and putting them into the characters as he wrote the tale, which was surprisingly fitting for the original poem, so much so that he wasn’t even sure if he could call the piece fiction. Maybe if he squinted, he could call it slice-of-life fiction, but only Qrow and Clover would be able to decipher all of the meanings behind the inside jokes and the little accents.

To any outsider, it would just be a tale of an unrequited love, but to them, it would be how they once were, a reminder of their origin. Qrow had to speculate quite a bit though, since the poem was written from the Clover-character perspective. He was telling the story from the Qrow-character perspective, so some of the actions and reactions were speculative, but upon a closer examination of his past behavior, Qrow could think of some actions that would merit the reactions and emotions in Clover’s original poem.

After writing a few pages, Qrow stopped to save his work, and he let his mind wander as a bit of a reward. This was the first time he’d been able to write something for the new anthology, and he sure as hell hoped that Clover would go for the idea.

A call and response.

A dance for two.

Something to portray themselves in the page that was true to who they were in their everyday lives together.

Qrow would have to immediately work on adapting his poem for Clover into a short story so Clover could draft an appropriate response, assuming he liked the idea. Even if he didn’t like the idea, Qrow had the utmost confidence that Clover would be willing to play with it for a bit, or he’d at least have some idea to put forth in return. Until they nailed down the concept of this book, it was just going to be a series of proposals back and forth until someone accepted the other’s idea.

But Qrow was pretty confident that Clover would find his idea intriguing. Clover, while strict in the poetry sense, still had a bit of thing for experimental poetry, and this would be something to test both of their skills. It would be a way for them to both continuously raise the bar for one another, a way to continue to inspire each other while they worked, a way to keep working on this at a steady pace and rely on one another until they were able to complete they anthology.

Qrow wondered how his old editors would feel if they heard he’d found a system like this to help him through one of his works. They probably would have praised him for his dedication to timeliness and offer up something to the gods as thanks for Qrow’s sudden interest in actually making deadlines. Of course, this system and scheduling was still all hypothetical, and could in turn raise their own challenges, but those would be problems for another day. All that mattered was that Qrow made progress.

He made progress without resorting to his old methods.

He was able to stay his current course.

Even if the critics didn’t end up liking his work, it wasn’t for them anymore.

It was for Clover, and his opinion on it was the only one that mattered.

* * *

“I still don’t think you had to wait for me,” Clover chuckled as they entered his apartment. “You could’ve easily let yourself in and made yourself comfortable while I talked to the students.”

“That’s quite alright,” Qrow replied. “It gave me time to actually work on the anthology.”

“Oh? Can I read what you wrote?”

“Sure,” Qrow said. “Let me set up my laptop, and then you can read it while I start making dinner.”

“You’re cooking tonight?” Clover said, feigning surprise. “What’s on the menu, Chef Branwen?”

“I was thinking pasta,” Qrow replied, taking off his coat and draping it over the chair at the dining table. It was amazing how familiar this apartment was becoming. He’d been spending enough time over at Clover’s now to be able to navigate without really paying attention to where he was going. Of course, he still admired all of the plants every time he stepped into the cozy apartment. His own lease was ending soon, maybe Clover would entertain the idea of letting him stay for a few days while he looked for a new apartment. It’s not like it would be any different to how they were now, since Qrow had been coming over almost every night since the end of the study abroad, at both his and Clover’s request.

Plus, they both slept better through the night when they slept together. The few nights where Qrow found himself back at his apartment alone were hellish. He wasn’t able to fall asleep nearly as fast, and he would toss and turn through the night, making what should have been a solid rest ultimately exhausting and fruitless.

Qrow also loved being around Clover in general.

“I’ve been craving something for a while and I just realized that it was pasta like ten minutes ago, so that sounds good for now.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Clover said, wrapping his arms around Qrow from behind and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Sounds delicious.”

Clover stayed like that while Qrow opened up his laptop and booted up. Qrow stared at Clover briefly when it prompted him for his password, and Clover gave him a pouty lip before burying his face in Qrow’s shoulder, obscuring his view of the keys and the screen. Qrow quickly typed in “ _I’mMoth3rfuckingQrowBr@nw3n_ ” and hit enter, before navigating to his work in progress.

“Go nuts, babe,” Qrow chuckled, causing Clover to pick up his head and gasp when he saw the open word document.

“Exciting! What’s it about?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” Qrow smirked before walking back into the kitchen. He grabbed his apron off of the hook and tied it around his waist before prepping the ingredients. He started humming as he prepped the ingredients and he set the pot to boil. The moment he had nothing in his hands, he felt two strong arms pick him up unexpectedly and spin around.

“Woah! Hey! Clover!”

“You based it off of my poem!”

“I did,” Qrow smiled as Clover lowered him back to the ground. “I thought of it this afternoon.”

“That’s so cool, what else do you have planned?” Clover said, curiosity and interest written all over his face. Qrow explained his idea for the anthology to Clover, who stood there listening with rapt attention, his hands never leaving Qrow’s hips even though he had set Qrow down. Qrow couldn’t help but smile and feel the warmth spread through his body as Clover smiled at his explanation for his idea.

“So, we each write what, five short stories or poems on our own?”

“Yes, and then we trade the five we’ve written and have the other person write their own version in their own style.”

When he had finished recounting his ideas, the look on Clover’s face was a mixture of adoration and fascination for Qrow and his idea. Qrow blushed a little, and Clover’s hands raised to the sides of Qrow’s face as he surged forward to kiss Qrow.

“That’s my genius bird,” Clover laughed.

“I’m glad you like the idea,” Qrow chuckled. “I was kind of scared you wouldn’t like it, but I knew you’d have ideas for the anthology anyways, so I trust your judgement.”

“I have one additional idea though,” Clover said, his smile changing into something of a mischievous smirk.

“And what would that be?”

“What if, with the exception of each of our first responses, since those are experimental, we don’t show each other our responses?”

“I’m listening,” Qrow said, leaning closer.

“Well, I know that we’re working on this together, but I think it would be neat if we didn’t share all of our response pieces with one another,” Clover said, eyes wandering.

“Any particular reason?” Qrow asked.

“I just…I think it would be fun to read this together when we’re done,” Clover smiled sheepishly. “I want to be able to read my poems to you, and I want you to read your short stories to me.”

Qrow blushed at the notion. Sure, the people he’d dated in the past were fans, but he’d never actually had any of them ask him to read to them. Qrow had always believed in the power of reading a work aloud for catching mistakes and for adding inflections to the writing that couldn’t necessarily be conveyed in the text. He also thought that a live reading could seriously color and influence the way that someone interprets a piece, and Clover’s two readings of his own poem had been living proof of that.

Still, Qrow couldn’t help but smile at the idea of the two of them wrapped up in a blanket or laying in bed, drinking tea, and listening to the rain on the window as they read the book aloud to one another. They’d be able to gush over each other’s responses, as well as brag about the little touches that they added to their own version to make it unique and point out the things that they used specifically for inspiration. If there was a specific scene in Qrow’s story or a line in Clover’s poems that really inspired them, those kinds of notes were the notes that Qrow would love to get.

He wondered what kind of notes Clover gets from his editors, though he knows that he wouldn’t be able to provide accurate edits for Clover’s poems, since Qrow himself was no master of poetry, though he was making a point to learn more about it with each passing day. He really wanted to be able to talk with Clover on a somewhat even footing about Clover’s passion and profession. Sure, they were both professors, so Clover would be more than capable to teaching Qrow everything he wanted to know about poetry. But to Qrow, learning about it behind Clover’s back made it feel a little more intimate, like something he was doing not because of spending time with Clover, but for Clover as an act of affection.

“I accept, on two conditions,” Qrow said.

“Fire away.”

“One, our author’s notes are also private until publishing,” Qrow stated.

“Okay.”

“Two, I can have another kiss,” Qrow smiled, leaning against Clover’s frame as he angled his head slightly, face pausing a mere inch away from his boyfriend’s.

“For you? You can have all of the kisses,” Clover chuckled as he closed the space, though he did so a little too soon, and Qrow could feel Clover’s mouth smiling against his own lips.

He’d never let Clover know it, but Qrow loved that.

Having Clover smile against his lips was something to Qrow that he couldn’t quite place. It was like the feeling of having his favorite homecooked meal after a long day. It was like the end of a long hike and looking over a breathtaking view of a picturesque valley below. It was like a secret, told intimately to him without Clover consciously knowing it, one which Qrow interpreted and held close to his heart. Feeling Clover smile against his lips meant one thing to Qrow.

Being with Qrow made Clover as happy as Qrow was being with Clover.

The two talked about the piece a little bit more while the pasta boiled. There were some nuances and adaptational changes so that the poem and the prose didn’t quite line up one to one, but that was alright. Clover couldn’t help but chuckle as they discussed parts of Qrow’s inspired short story, though when prompted, he refused to offer up any of the meaning behind his poem. After they’d talked it out for long enough, Qrow asked for a copy of the poem, as well as a copy of his poem in the clover notebook so that he could adapt it into a short story.

“Nope,” Clover replied.

“But I need to change it into a short story so you can write a reply,” Qrow explained.

“Nope,” Clover repeated. “I’ll just write a short story in response, and I’ll give you a short story to turn into a poem.”

“Wait, I didn’t agree to more poetry,” Qrow groaned.

“Why not? Your first one was great,” Clover smiled pulling his boyfriend closer. “I want to see what else you can write!”

“Fine,” Qrow said. “But only since you’re writing two short stories.”

They took a break from all of the work talk to focus on finishing dinner. Clover took over when it came to making the sauce, but not before thanking Qrow for all of his prep work. As the dish was being finished, Qrow got out some placemats and silverware to set the table. Clover snuck another kiss on the cheek as Qrow attempted to step behind him to leave the kitchen, causing Qrow to smile at his feet in response.

As he did his task, Qrow paused, remembering his meeting with Neptune yet again. The end of the meeting, coupled with Clover’s reaction to Qrow attempting to read the same collection the other day, raised a question that he desperately wanted to know the answer to. Maybe there was some truth to what Neptune said, but he wouldn’t know without asking.

“Oh Cloves,” Qrow called to Clover as he set the table.

“Yes?”

“I heard a curious rumor today from a student,” Qrow said, trying to figure out how to phrase the question that was burning in his mind.

“Come on, Qrow,” Clover laughed. “You know that that’s a slippery slope. First, it’s ‘Nora Valkyrie won an eating contest,’ and soon it becomes ‘we saw Nora eat ten pancakes in under thirty seconds.’ But hit me, I could use a laugh!”

“Oh, well, this one’s not really a…funny rumor…so much as an interesting one…about you,” Qrow paused frequently, playing with his hands behind his back absentmindedly.

“Uh oh. I’ve got to tell you, I definitely didn’t eat ten pancakes in under thirty seconds, because honestly I don’t think it’s possible.”

“No, it’s not about pancakes,” Qrow chuckled, “though you’ve got me curious. Actually, it’s what kind of gave me the idea for the inspiration for the anthology. Anyways…a student came to my office hours this morning, and you’ll never guess what he said.”

“Wait I’m good at this,” Clover made a gesture of putting his fingertips on the sides of his head, as if he were pretending to be a psychic. “He said: ‘You always know what to do, Professor Branwen. You’ve got the best ideas for things all the time. Just do what feels right and give your boyfriend another kiss because he’s so lucky.’ Because if so, first of all, what a suck up, and second, I can agree with those last two statements one hundred percent.”

“No,” Qrow chuckled nervously. “And what about the first? I’m good at knowing what to do!”

“Come on, baby bird, no one knows what to do all the time,” Clover laughed. “At least I sure don’t. Do you have any tips? Never mind, what did he say?”

“He uh…he said that I was your inspiration for _Heart on Fire_.”

Clover froze.

“Wild, right Cloves?”

Silence.

“Clover?”

“There’s…there’s something I want to show you, Qrow.”

Qrow’s eyes followed Clover as he walked out of the kitchen area and towards the study. He disappeared for a moment, and Qrow heard the muffled sound of the desk from the other side, wondering what Clover was up to.

A few moments later, Clover stepped out.

He was holding seven envelopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here! Man, it's been forever since I've updated! I really wish I could've done this sooner, but my work has essentially kicked into overdrive with everything going on, and I've been working every single day for the past three weeks (and I've been working from home for the past seven weeks). Truth be told, I'm in an area with a very high concentration of covid-19 cases, and I personally know several people who have caught it. It's been a rough few weeks, and I'm trying to stay safe, but being isolated for seven weeks is a little rough on anyone. Everyone out there, please remember to practice safe social distancing, wash your hands, and only buy what you need because there's so many people out there who are absolutely reliant on the things people are bulk buying, and what might not be a necessity for you might be for them. Please be responsible and safe.
> 
> With that out of the way, I hope you guys enjoyed my return! Yes...we finally have the letters being revealed...and yes...you will finally get to see what's inside of them! Also, it's Neptune's turn to be taken under Qrow's wing (ha). I purposefully paired Qrow up with one student per arc of the story because I wanted a student's growth to reflect his own, or to challenge him to be better. Tell me what you think about this!
> 
> Anyways, thank you all so so much for reading chapter 14, I know it's been a while since I've updated, but thank you for sticking with me! Your comments and encouragement really mean the world to me in these times since it's really hard being alone in isolation when your friends and family are across the country lol. Anyways, please leave a comment telling me what you thought about the chapter! I've posted a link to this chapter on my tumblr page, and seriously folks, every comment, reblog, tag, kudos, and the like are seriously appreciated and seriously uplifting. I love you all so much, and I'll see you soon enough with chapter 15!
> 
> All my love,  
> Jelly♥
> 
> Tumblr: https://smol--jelly.tumblr.com


	15. Starstruck Inception and Love-struck Fruition

Seven envelopes.

Last time Qrow saw them, there were six, though he would never admit to seeing them prior to now.

The two stared at each other for a few moments. Qrow didn’t want to break the silence. This was something Clover felt he had to do, and as such, he sat with rapt attention, waiting for Clover to feel comfortable enough to continue.

“I guess…you could consider this fan mail,” Clover began, clutching the envelopes tightly. “I used to write you every time I finished one of your books, though I’ll admit as time went on, they were less about your books and more about…well…you.”

“About me?” Qrow asked, tilting his head.

“I think it’s best if you see for yourself,” Clover replied, swallowing hard. “Honestly, I never thought I’d be showing these to you so please, don’t judge me too harshly.”

“Hey, Cloves,” Qrow said, placing his hand on the side of Clover’s face, reassuringly. “I promise you I won’t.’

Clover leaned into the touch, his eyes meeting Qrow’s before he leaned in for a soft kiss, lips trembling as he pulled away. Clover sucked in a sharp breath before handing the stack of letters to Qrow, who turned them over in his hands, examining them closely. Sure enough, it was the same letters that Clover had in his desk. Each one was labeled proudly with the word “Beloved” written in careful lettering. Qrow’s heart swelled as his mind recalled all of the times he’d panicked about someone else bearing that nickname, given to them by Clover, and never did he think it possible that the title was given to him.

He looked at Clover one more time, and leaned in for a slower, more reassuring kiss. Both of Clover’s hands came up to Qrow’s arms, and they gently pulled him into a better position as they slightly deepened the kiss. When they broke apart, Clover’s smile had returned, even if some of the nerves were still there.

“Stay with me while I read them,” Qrow requested.

“Of course, Qrow.”

* * *

I

Dear Mr. Branwen,

My name is Clover Ebi, and I must confess that I’ve never actually written an author before about their own work. Thinking on it, I’ve never actually written fan mail before. My mother used to write some to a jazz musician a long time ago, and she was proud of the time she got an autographed picture in response. Rest assured; I won’t be asking you for anything like that. No, I’m writing to discuss your recent novel, _Harbinger_.

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever read before. I can’t pinpoint it either. Is it your style? Your plot? Your pacing? They’re all different though I can’t quite figure out what it is exactly I like about it. Do not misunderstand me, I think the book overall is amazing, but I’m at a loss when it comes to deciding what the strength of this novel is. Perhaps it’s because all of the elements it is composed of are strong? I’m not too sure.

I picked up a copy of your book at a friend’s recommendation, and I will surely pass on this recommendation to anyone looking to read something new. It immediately hooked me in, to the point where I stayed up late into the night to finish the book the same day that I opened it. Your main character is interesting, and he has quite a dynamic with the cast that was absolutely mesmerizing as I continued through. I had no idea that he was supposed to be Death itself until the twist! When I reread it, I started picking up on all of the little clues here and there that you hid away skillfully between the lines. I pride myself on being able to pick up on twists way before they happen, but this one came out of left field for me, which was refreshing and only served to make me more interested in the story as I continued to read.

Oh well, you probably don’t need the praise from me. I mean, if you pick up any literary magazine, you’re all they’re talking about right now. Your book is at the top of the charts, and people are buying it so quickly that my local bookstore has run out of copies at least three times. That’s a testament to your work if I’ve ever heard it.

I’m not a novelist like you are.

Actually, I’m a poet by trade.

Well that’s not entirely true. I’m actually a military man, working at the military academy as a teacher. Ever since I’ve gotten the position, I’ve done nothing but have the students read different works. I’ve hardly written anything of my own since I’ve taken up the title of teacher, but perhaps things will be different now.

I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you.

I’ve been stuck in a place where I haven’t been able to be too creative for the longest time. All of my work is supposed to be for the betterment of the students, and since we’re government funded, it’s not necessary for the teachers like me to put ourselves out there to secure funding by exercising our creative muscles and showing off our work. My pen has grown old, and the ink well had almost run dry, but after reading _Harbinger_ , you’ve relit the spark inside me.

Please forgive the bad pun, but like a crow, singing to the world, being a harbinger of your own message, you’ve inspired me to spread my own wings. I assure you, my work isn’t remotely as majestic as yours is, thought I doubt there are many people who could go head to head and toe to toe with you when it comes to the quality of your work.

No, my wings are smaller, but hopefully I will show you a vibrancy in my craft unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Please don’t misunderstand me, this isn’t a literary challenge, and this isn’t a self-promotion, but rather a dedication. I highly doubt I’ll ever mail this letter, but I felt as though I still needed to tell you somehow that you were the one who has gotten me out of my cold nest and back into the world of the written word. I longed to be back in the thick of it for so long, and all I needed was a push from someone new, someone exciting, someone fun. Well Mr. Branwen, any creative works I publish or deign to work on from this point on have been as a direct result of your influence.

Thank you for your time, your hard work, and you interesting mind. I look forward to the day when I’ll be able to perhaps stand on a stage much like the one you’re on, and to be able to motivate others the way you’ve encouraged me to get back to writing. Who knows, maybe one day you might actually read something by me and find some worth in it, though I doubt I’ll get the chance to share my work with you any time soon.

Ah well, I’m already rambling a bit, but you get the idea. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Clover Ebi

II

Dear Mr. Branwen,

I heard you were coming out with another book, and of course I was waiting with rapt attention until it hit the shelves. You’ve done something I never thought possible: you’ve made me into a fan of sorts. Sorry, that’s probably rather cringy for someone writing you fan mail to tell you just how much of a fan they are, but I couldn’t help myself. Everything you do challenges the norm of modern literature. Listening to the media’s shock over your recent piece was fitting, though I think they may be missing the point a little bit.

Sure, your character has a string of unfortunate moments throughout the entirety of the novel, but the media says that your message is something akin to the fact that to live is to suffer. Your character certainly proves that as she goes about her day to day life, with each misstep or incident of bad luck being increasingly worse than the last. Honestly, I fully expected her to die at the end, though you subverted that expectation. Having her live I think also disproves the media’s claims, since it would have been more apropos for her to die as a result of her bad luck. Her life would have been one marred by suffering, as she goes from one incident to the next without respite, but at the end you give her happiness, albeit in an uncertain and possibly fleeting form.

I think you were trying to tell us something different. While she truly experiences the most suffering in the book, she also seems the most alive. Avyra’s liveliness is one that’s unmatched by anyone else, and her vibrant energy all but radiates off of the page. Despite everything that she’s been through, she knows somewhere deep down that something good just waits around the corner. Sure, she curses her luck at times, and calls herself some sort of a karmic puppet or lightning rod that exists to balance out all of the wrong in the world, but she never loses faith.

While the suffering she goes through can be intense at times, and the act of suffering itself isn’t glamorous, nor should it be idolized or romanticized, she still considers it to be a reminder. Above all, she always turns towards the good first. She focuses on that which can come, and that which can change everything at a moment’s notice

I guess what I’m trying to say is that you weren’t trying to convince us that suffering is life, but the moments between suffering are when we truly feel alive, because there’s no way to know the highs without the lows, and one can appreciate the highs because of the lows they experience. Does that make sense? I’m not entirely sure if I’m making coherent thoughts hit the page this late at night, as I’m writing you from the moment after I’ve finished the novel. There’re so many thoughts swimming through my head about the world you’ve crafted, and the characters you’ve breathed life into, but that’s nothing outside of the norm. You proved before that you were a master of the written word, and you’ve proved it again by showing everyone that your first foray into the world of novel writing was no fluke.

You must be proud to be able to put out not only one, but two works now of such high caliber. I know it probably went under your radar, since poetry’s not really everyone’s cup of tea, but I thought that I should let you know that I actually published my first official poetry collection thanks to your inspiration. I was so happy when I finally finished it, and even though it got stalled for a little bit through the publication process, I think it came out very well.

Honestly, I can’t thank you enough. I’ve always been an avid reader, but I mean it when I say that I think I found your books at the right place and the right time of my life. There really wasn’t much going on for me any more at the military academy, and while I still teach there, you’ve gotten me up and off of my ass to make something I’m truly proud of.

Though I don’t know what scares me more, the fact that you definitely haven’t read it, or the possibility that you have. But enough about me, this was supposed to be about you. I can’t wait to see more from you, Mr. Branwen, and I look forward to your next book. I wonder what it will be about! Personally, I wouldn’t mind seeing more of Avyra. After everything you put her through in this book, I’d like to see something where she actually gets to live with her newfound happiness, though something tells me a return to the series just might spell more trouble for her. Whichever route you ultimately go for, I can’t wait to pick it up the moment it hits the shelves. Out of curiosity, do you ever do book signings? Never mind, that was a silly thing to ask. I hope you have a wonderful day.

Sincerely,

Clover Ebi

III

Dear Mr. Branwen,

You sonofabitch, you’ve done it again! Okay, not the best way to open a letter, but I know that you’ll recognize it from chapter 21 and hopefully won’t hold it against me. Oh, who am I kidding, I never actually send these, but still, something tells me that the sentiment will reach you regardless. You’ve already heard from so many people; I doubt that you want to hear from anyone like me. Still, I must admit, it was interesting to see you writing another book about Avyra.

In my last letter, I expressed to you my desire to see her live with her newfound happiness, but sure enough, you threw us back into the darkness with her. Honestly, while I wasn’t thrilled at first to see that was the route you chose, you truly made it work, and you made it feel refreshing, even though I thought you’d already explored all possibilities in that realm. Boy was I wrong, and you definitely have a compelling and fiercely gripping novel to show for it.

At this point I have to ask: is she based on someone you know? This is a character who you seem to know intimately, and not in that regard, but she almost seems more like someone you know instead of a character you’ve invented to live on the page if that makes sense. Everything she does has a certain air to it, and her responses to situations are incredibly organic. It’s almost as if you found one of your most unfortunate friends and lifted their lives to place it on a page. Not in a bad way since I know you definitely have their permission but forgive me if I apologize to your friend for officially having the worst possible life imaginable.

It was interesting to see her take more of a passive role this time. It’s as though she’s accepted the return of her bad luck, instead of trying to fight back against it. Though for some reason, I pity her when she comes to live by taking a back seat to her bad luck. In fact, I think her character changed a little bit for the worse in this book. I’m not saying she was poorly written, but it was interesting to see all of the negativity finally eat away at her to the point where she’s melancholy at last. She’s always been such a force of positivity throughout all of her misfortune, but to see her give in and finally crack under the pressure…there was something profoundly sad about it. An innocence lost moment if you will.

I find myself wondering what would happen if she could encounter her exact opposite. Throughout all of the novels you’ve written around her, two so far, she’s the only one with such a polarity. There’s no one else who shows any sort of strong affinity like she does, as though the whole world is out to get her from the start. However, I am of the mind that there can’t be that much negativity in the world without that much positivity somewhere else. So, what do you think would happen if she encountered the walking version of a good luck charm to counter her bad luck? I’m curious as to what you think.

Would they use one another? A woman exploited all of her life for her good luck and an outcast who’s been driven away from others because of the bad luck she brings. Perhaps they’d manipulate each other to gain favor or to throw people off of their scent, depending on what each of the ladies wanted. No, that wouldn’t make any sense, I think. I think it’d be the opposite. They’d both know the struggles of their plights, and they’d stick by one another. I think that Avyra can return to being the happy woman she once was, and her friend would be there to help her through it all. Or perhaps they’d be able to build a life together, away from the chaos of it all, and perhaps Avyra can finally find the rest she so greatly deserves as she’s cradled in the arms of a lover, a confidant, and a counterbalance to the misfortune that seems to follow her. An umbrella to hold over her head to block out the rain she heralds. A hand to catch her before she falls. I think that would be a lovely sentiment to explore. Since I seemed to be right on the money about the sequel in my last letter, if I’m right about this, please don’t kill one of them. After all of the suffering Avyra’s been through in your series killing her or her newfound love interest would be unforgivable, even if you are a master author.

You see, I’ve always been one who’s curious with the nature of things. As a young kid, I wanted to learn everything about anything. I’ve always been curious as to how things work, and to the weight they put out there into the world. I think it would be an interesting concept for you to explore, should you ever choose to, though I think I’d rather you tell me in secret in these letters so as to not disrupt your novel universe.

Please wish your friend well for me, and I hope that their luck begins to turn soon.

Sincerely,

Clover Ebi

IV

Dear Dr. Branwen,

Please forgive me for not using your proper title until now. I was aware of the fact that you were a talented author, but I was never savvy to the fact that you were also a university professor. My colleague told me that they happened to run into you while they were touring Beacon University, and please forgive me when I say that I’m a little jealous of them. I would have taken the time to ask you so many questions about your books, although you would probably have grown tired of the bombardment after a few minutes, as I’m sure so many people have hit you with a barrage of unexpected and unwarranted questions before.

As for your latest work, I found it absolutely enlightening.

For a while I tried to grasp the concept, I really did. I couldn’t quite figure out who the main character was supposed to be, as he seemed to be following in the footsteps of Avyra with her monumental bad luck, though this time with a touch more realism. Of course, putting him in the public eye constantly was quite an interesting way to spin the suffering he endured. Despite the fact that he was always surrounded by adoring fans and comments, he still seemed as though he was observing it from the bird’s eye view you so aptly put as the title.

Do you ever feel like that?

I’ve been publishing more and more collections of my own recently, and I find it comforting to hear from my fans, and they’ve always been polite, though my following is nowhere near the level yours is at. I suppose we all encounter a different following in our path, and if there is a modicum of your truth in this novel that you inserted to give us a peek behind the curtain, then I feel for you, I truly do. The amount of deception, the lies, the painted smiles, the amount that Darren goes through is actually sickening if I think about it all as being truthful experiences. Though I suppose this has opened my eyes quite a bit.

Every day, normal people like me used to look up at our inspirations and our idols like you, and we used to think of you all as the pinnacle. Without realizing it, I suppose we’ve all put our idols on a pedestal to the point where we don’t even think about how we treat them differently from other people. I imagine it can be quite lonely up where Darren is, judging by his trials and tribulations.

Do you think he would have done anything differently if he knew that this would be his life? If he knew from the start, about all of the heartbreak and deception he’d have to endure at the top, would he have the drive to get to where he was? Would he change his course, or would he forge ahead as he’d done before, but this time taking larger precautions to avoid the same pitfalls? How would that change his life then? Do you think he would be happier? Though again, the realism in his suffering makes me think that I’m not actually asking you about Darren, but rather I’m asking about you.

I must be honest, I haven’t really followed much news about you in terms of public news, and I’ve never been one to dig into someone’s past by voraciously reading tabloids, online bios, and social media posts. I’ve always been the type of person to hear it from the horse’s mouth directly, so to speak. Regardless, I think that this work was definitely something that will get many people to reevaluate the way they look at their idols. I think that it was fascinating from start to finish, and it’s given me something of an insight as to who you are, Dr. Branwen.

Anyways, I thought I might tell you some interesting news to close out this letter, though I think it’s only interesting to me. Since the military academy is looking at forming stronger relationships with universities abroad, they’re trying to place some of our professors in other universities in sort of a swap. I know normally only students are swapped, but Beacon University and Atlas Academy have always exchanged a rather large number of students for various study abroad opportunities at one another’s campuses. Beacon’s ROTC program allows Atlas Academy students to stay on track, and the surprisingly large funding and experienced staff of Atlas Academy has made the Academy an attractive option to even civilian students at Beacon University. I’ve been nominated as a professor for the exchange to develop the relationship between universities, with a very large possibility of the position being tenured. I don’t think my odds of securing the transfer are that high, but I think it would be great.

Could you imagine it? After all of these years of reading your books and being inspired to write works of my own, I could actually sit down with you face to face and talk about them someday soon. Who knows? Maybe I can stop writing these letters someday, because I’ll be able to tell you my thoughts directly. Oh well, I don’t think it’s going to happen, but it’s a nice thought. Please enjoy the rest of your week.

Sincerely,

Dr. Clover Ebi

V

Dear Professor Branwen,

As you could imagine, had you the ability to read all of my letters up until now, I am thoroughly confused. I realize that I’ve not been at Beacon University long, but I would have thought by now that I would have had some opportunity to be able to speak with you one-on-one. I’m finding myself rather lonely since I came to Beacon University. Sure, there were two other professors who also transferred here with me, but I thought that I would have made a few new companions ever since moving here. I thought that the people would be warmer since the weather most definitely is.

But when I met you, I didn’t know what to expect.

Were you aware of how intimidating you are?

When I saw a photo of you in the cover of your recent work, _Lost Adrift_ , there was a sadness in your face. You wore it as though it were a birthmark, one which you never deigned to cover with anything, because why would you be ashamed of yourself? There was a sadness, true, but also the air of refinement and poise, one that proved your battle-tested nature. You had scars, and it was as if that simple black and white photo spoke more about you than any of the novels you’ve published, not that a novel is indicative of an author’s interests or habits.

I should note, the photo incredibly fitting for the work, though you still came across as having some direction in your photo, whereas your main character this time seemed completely lost. I know that this was supposed to be more of an experimental work, and honestly, I think your techniques paid off, though I don’t think this one is able to be a movie any time soon. I wonder how it would look anyways, since most of the conversations and pictures were mental. Though through the wonders of modern cinema, I’m sure there’s a way.

Anyways, seeing you in person was something completely different. I wasn’t expecting your eyes to be so red. That sad nature I thought you possessed was replaced by a defensive nature, one that dared any and all to come at you with an intensity and ferocity unlike anything imaginable, otherwise it would be squashed instantly. You may not have said much during the orientation sessions and the office tours, but your presence was unmistakable, almost overbearing.

Are you always this intense?

I suppose anyone would have a bit of an adjustment period. After all, they tell you to never meet your idols, since they’re likely to be completely different than you expect. I think I imagined you to be an amalgamation of your characters, since as distant as characters are from an author, there are still the tiniest hints of the author existing within them. Though I pictured you more as a post- _Bad Luck Charm_ Avyra more than the rest.

I see now that that’s not true. Avyra never fought back against her circumstances. She lived with them, and eventually surrendered to them, but it seems as though you are ready at a moment’s notice to swing back at full force. I find myself reading your works with a little bit more of an intensity these days, now that I’ve gotten to see you in a public, professional setting. While I have trouble picturing you reacting to something the same way Darren reacted to each plot point, I imagine it taking a much larger toll on you than it did on him. You may put up a strong front, Professor, but I’m not quite sure I buy it.

Are you scared?

I know I’ve given you no thorough and proven reasons to trust me yet, but I hope that someday soon I can win you over, so you can see that you don’t always have to be on guard 24/7. Honestly I would like to see you in a more relaxed setting, not for any guilty, self-serving reasons, but I’m curious what you’re like when you’re not high stepping as though each tile in the hallway is a primed landmine.

I wonder what kind of conversations we could have over a nice cup of tea, listening to some music. I really would like to ask you questions about some of your novels, but I can see that you probably aren’t willing to field them at present. Still, that won’t stop me from fantasizing about spending an afternoon or two alone with you as we talk about some of the themes in your book. I think that you have one of the most gifted minds of any author I’ve ever read and watching it at work here in the workplace is something I’m also looking forward to seeing. I hope to work with you more in the future, Professor, and though you may not remember it, thank you for the warm welcome to Beacon University. I hope I like it here.

Sincerely,

Professor Clover Ebi

VI

Dear Qrow,

You are, without a doubt, the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. Did you know that? I can’t recall the last time I’ve ever felt this way about someone. Every time I see you, my blood begins to boil, and I just want to let everything out. You’re headstrong, driven, and completely oblivious to everything around you that is not centered around one of your own projects. At least, that’s what everyone else sees. And that’s what everyone else says.

But I know different.

You slipped up; did you know that? I’ve been working here for over a year now, and you finally slipped up. I caught you in office hours one day, completely by accident. The so-called “eternal hard-ass and lone wolf,” Professor Branwen, the guy who never played nice with anyone in the department, talking with a student. I never was one to listen to the idle chatter of other professors, as petty as it tended to be. I couldn’t let their descriptions of you color my own perception, but I was absolutely curious to hear your interaction with this student, as wrong as it is to eavesdrop.

What I didn’t expect was the tenderness with which you instructed them.

I can’t recall her name, or what she looked like, but the young woman was clearly struggling, and you stayed with her late in the afternoon to help her fix her portfolio. Along the way, there were many times when she seemed so ready to give up, but you never raised your voice, and you never admonished her. I’ve seen so many professors turn away students without a second thought the moment their office hours were over, but I heard you invite her to a section of your class that wasn’t hers so you could continue your discussion during a workshop. I’ve never seen another professor go to such lengths for a student.

But that’s not all.

I’ve seen how you push yourself during finals week. I’ve seen how you stay long after every other professor is gone, with the pledge to help any and every student who comes to you, begging for advice in the middle of the night. I’ve seen you struggle to balance all of your accommodations for students with your classes and all of the projects you take on for Dr. Ozpin. I’ve heard the rest of the staff speak ill of you and talk about staying away from your projects because of your icy nature, but they couldn’t be further from the truth.

Qrow Branwen, you are absolutely infuriating. The world around you says nothing but negative things about you, and you do nothing to fight back. You do nothing to disprove their statements. They know nothing about your true nature, how gentle and kind you are, and how dedicated you are to your job that you’re willing to work insane hours so that those around you can succeed no matter what’s going on. It makes me so angry to hear the things they say about you, because I know that what they say isn’t true.

You yourself are not the cause of my anger. No, I don’t think I could ever hate you. Quite the opposite. Whenever you’re alone, you look so tired. Do you know that? I want nothing more than to come up to you and to tell you that everything will be alright. I think of anyone at this university, you’re the one who deserves to hear it the most, yet there’s no one in your corner who’s willing to give you that simple comfort, and those reassuring words.

Given the opportunity, I would do nothing but give you the love I think you deserve. Gods know that no one at this university, except for Dr. Ozpin and Dr. Goodwitch, have your back. I’ve heard the rumors, and I know that they’re not true. You’re not a man who’s angry despite his success, you’re one who’s scarred because of it, and one who’s afraid to open up to others because they’ve already put you up so high on a pedestal that they’ve lost the ability to see you correctly.

I would like for you to give me a chance to show you that there’s still people out there who love you, and that you’re not alone, because someone who does as much good as you do and who’s inspired as many people as you have shouldn’t have to suffer alone. You set my heart on fire every time I see you, whether it be inspiration, admiration, or infatuation, it’s too early for me to say. I pray that one day you’ll be able to feel truly loved, and I would be the luckiest man on the planet if I could help you remember what it’s like to experience a love you deserve. Even if your past experiences have dried up and hardened your heart, please…open yourself and let me pour in just a bit of the love that you’ve given to the rest of the world.

Fondly,

Clover

VII

Dearest Beloved,

When I originally came to Beacon University, I thought I was making the right choice. Over the past few years, I’ve debated whether or not it was the right decision, leaving my own university and world to chase a dream and to work along side you. You were the one who inspired me all of those years ago, and though our relationship has been rocky, I still think I made the right choice.

But looking at those 24 hours…

I messed up.

I think I messed up pretty badly.

I know you may not remember it right now, but that night I only took you home out of pure concern. When you opened up to me, I was elated and heartbroken all at once to see the pain you were in. When we woke up, I thought it was as lovers, but judging from your reaction I couldn’t be further away from the truth. I must admit, I’ve seen you snap before, though after your words that night, I think I know where your anger was coming from. It hurts.

It hurt me to hear that you say you wished that you could love me, but that you think you don’t deserve to be with someone who you consider to be perfect. I assure you, I’m not perfect, but I work hard every day to seem dependable. I want to be dependable enough for you to see me as someone you can rely on, and someone who doesn’t want anything from you, except for your plainest self.

It’s been pretty hard for me to sleep ever since that night. Honestly, after you went to sleep, I was up for a while, shaking as I held you in my arms. I was angry at those who had damaged you so severely, and my heart wept for you, though you wouldn’t think yourself worth the emotion. You’d think I was pitying you, when I assure you that couldn’t be further from the truth. When you said that you wished you could love me, I wanted to run. I thought it impossible for you to ever return my feelings in that moment, and I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

But when you told me that you’d work to make that wish reality…I’ve never felt such a high in my life. The burn in my chest is bittersweet, the fire of my rage towards your abusers clashes every moment with the well of tears I hold in my soul. Since you don’t mourn for yourself, I will do it for you.

That night changed a lot in me. I’d be lying if I said that it changed nothing. I wanted to go back to the beginning. I wanted to take it all back. Back to my first days at the university when you thought I was nothing but a starstruck coworker who transferred from wherever to do whatever. There was a distance between us that was plain as day. But I dared to cross that line. Maybe if I never came to Beacon, I never would have developed the affection and admiration I have for you. Sure, I would have still continued to be a fan, but there would no longer be the rose tint covering my eyes as I watch what you do. Maybe you’d be happier now if that were the case.

Yet, you still keep me here. Gods know you’ve given no hint as to being able to see it, but I swear I must’ve given myself away several times now. Even if you can’t remember our conversation, you’ve tethered me to this place. You’ve given me a fleeting hope that my love will one day be returned, and until that day I will be by your side.

I know that people say I could grow to love another person as I’ve grown to love you, but that’s not the point. I’ve seen what you’re capable of behind closed doors and away from the eyes of the world. I’ve seen the care in your eyes, your voice, your smile as you help every one of your students. I’ve seen the struggles you’ve endured in silence, until the weight causes you to buckle, and no one is there to help you with the load. I want to be someone who can be there for your, to help you when you need it, and to show you that you’re truly loved.

Should it turn out to be a monumental task, I’ll be the fool running the errand, for there is no place I’d rather be than here. If I’m here, I can help you should you ever choose to call for it. If it’s something as simple as grading papers or taking over a section for you, I’ll do it. If you need comfort, I’ll be there to provide it for you. But until that day comes, I’ll wait here. I’ll wait for you to sound the horn, and I will rush to your aid. But until that day comes, I’ll continue to help you in the little ways I can, to show you that no matter how big or how small, you are loved, and you deserve the world.

All of my love,

Clover

* * *

While Qrow was reading the letters, true to his word, Clover stayed by his side the whole time. Occasionally, he would hug Qrow a little tighter to him, and sometimes he’d place idle kisses on Qrow’s temple as Qrow reclined against him. Sometimes Qrow Would glance back, and Clover would sheepishly smile and turn his head away, though the moment Qrow’s attention would return to the paper, the nerves came back.

“This last one seems…familiar,” Qrow remarked as he turned it over in his hands a few times after reading it. “I’ve heard some of this before.”

“Ah, that,” Clover noted. “You’re correct.”

“Where is it from?”

“It would be a better question to ask about what this letter made,” Clover replied cryptically.

“Okay then, what did this letter make?” Qrow said, placing a hand on Clover’s knee and squeezing it lightly. Through all the time they’d spent together, Qrow hardly saw Clover this nervous. He wanted to make the man feel comfortable in any possible way, and he didn’t want to rush his explanations. Any time he saw prolonged hesitation in Clover or lengthy, doubtful pauses, Qrow would give Clover the smallest of kisses or the most miniscule of signs that everything would be alright.

“Well, you may not know this,” Clover began, “but each of my poetry collections start with the title poem. Those title poems each come from these letters.”

“Wait, for real?”

“Yes,” Clover nodded. “Some I converted into poetry directly, whereas others inspired my title poems in other ways. Even before you proposed your idea to me about the anthology, I knew that the poem that I presented to you at your apartment and again at the café was going to be my first work.”

“And this was the letter that inspired the poem?”

“Yes,” Clover nodded firmly. “That was written shortly after…well you know, my first confession. The poem itself came sometime around the start of November, after we’d actually gotten to sit down and talk about things briefly and after we had our movie night.” Clover paused for a moment, chuckling. “I’m not going to lie, the night we had our movie marathon kind of got me up off of my ass to write the poem. It gave a me a little bit of hope again.”

“Oh? Which part?” Qrow smirked. “The part where you were busy dealing with kids and goofing off while I was doing all of the paperwork? Or are you talking about the part when you were so scared of a fictional killer that you were practically begging to stay up with me?”

“I was going to say the part where I got to fall asleep in your arms and feel comfortable for the first time in a long time,” Clover sighed, rolling his eyes, “but I guess I can take it back and say that it was how the legendary novelist had the laziest apartment I’d ever seen, and that it was nice to see some out of work flaws.”

“You ass,” Qrow laughed, picking up a pillow and lightly thumping Clover on top of the head with it. “I mean, I thought you were going to say it was the part where you got dressed to go get breakfast foods and then stripped back to your sweatpants and an apron to try and show off to me in the morning.”

“You…you can’t prove that,” Clover said nervously. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Cloves, you’re turning red,” Qrow smiled, kissing him swiftly on the tip of his nose.

“Okay, fine, yes,” Clover sighed. “But only because you were teasing me the night before about Michael Meyers!”

“Love, there’s better ways to tease me.”

With that, the pair laughed, and spent the rest of the evening together on the couch. Qrow answered various questions Clover had had about his novels since gods know when, and Clover explained some of his thoughts and ideas that were written within the letters. When Qrow woke up the next morning, he was still reclined on Clover, curled up together underneath a blanket on the couch, with the early light of the dawn just beginning to peek into the apartment. He swiftly snuck away and decided to make breakfast for Clover in the exact same fashion that Clover had done for him months ago, apron and all, or lack thereof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here! Finally, finally, finally we get the letters! Whether or Clover realized it at the time of writing the letters or not, he definitely was in love with Qrow long before he explored that in "Heart on Fire." But what do you all think? Was it worth the wait? Was it what you expected, or was this something completely unexpected? I'd love to know what you thought about the letters!
> 
> Thank you everyone for your continued support of "An Affair of the Body and the Mind"! We're nearing the last few chapters here (though I haven't decided on a finite number yet) so please stay tuned as we reach the conclusion!! I've got a few treats planned and I really really hope you enjoy them as much as I do! I've been holding onto these ideas since all the way back in January, and I'm so glad to see that they're going to finally come to light! If you liked this chapter, please let me know in the comments! You can also follow me on tumblr, where I post the link to every new chapter as it goes live (and please feel free to share the link, because I really wouldn't be here without your continued support, and I don't really advertise my fic). Well, I'll see everyone next time! Thanks again for reading!
> 
> All my love,  
> Jelly ♥


	16. An Affair of the Body and the Mind

He’d had the ring picked out for two months now.

Picking it out had been simple, but he was glad that everyone else seemed to approve of his choice. Qrow remembered sending the picture to the group chat, a two-tone gold wedding band. The middle band was a brilliant gold, accentuated well by the thinner strips of fourteen karat white gold on either side. It seemed simplistic, but had a refinement to it that was undeniable, much like how Qrow perceived Clover when they first met. But as their relationship grew and changed over the years, Qrow was finally able to see all of the complexities and depth behind the buttoned-up colleague. It was for this reason that Qrow had a message engraved on the inside of the ring.

Summer was first to reply, as she had been with most of the developments in their relationship.

“Oh my god, Qrow! That’s stunning!” she said, and Qrow could practically see the smile in her words. “I’m so excited for you two!”

“Well baby bird, I guess you have some taste,” Raven replied.

“It’s about time,” Daisy typed a moment later, and everyone immediately gave her message a heart. “You’ve felt like a part of this family for years, Qrow. About time you officially join it.”

“He’s still our bird first, Daisy! You can’t take him from us without a fight!” Taiyang interjected.

“Careful boy, or I’ll charge you double for the sweets the next time you’re all in Atlas.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Get his ass, Daisy!” Raven said instantly, and Qrow took that as his cue to put the phone away.

“What do you think, Elm?” Qrow said, turning to the woman next to him. “You’ve known him for so long, do you think he’ll like it?”

The woman beside him stood up and towered over Qrow as she grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him in the chair to face her. When they’d first started hanging out about a year ago, Qrow was often surprised by her physical reactions to everything, but he quickly learned that that was her style. The good thing about Elm was that she was always clear and direct with her thoughts and opinions on everything, and it was easy to gauge her reactions to things because of her blunt personality. It took a bit of adjusting for Qrow to get used to her compared to the rest of Clover’s ragtag group of friends, but he’d rather have her with him now than anyone else.

“Qrow, I cannot stress how many times I have seen every single gift you have given Clover. The man cannot do anything but gush about and fawn over you whenever someone so much as mentions something that reminds him of you,” she said plainly. “If you give him this ring, I can personally guarantee that every waking moment I see him for the rest of my life, he will be wearing it. He will stare at it fondly every second of every day because it is something you gave him. But this ring…it is special, and it is you two. This is the one.”

The next thing Qrow had to do was come up with the engagement method. He’d thought about a special night out on the town, or maybe some bad do something. He thought about proposing to Clover at an open mic event, but he didn’t think he had the strength to say those words out loud to a crowd. He knew deep down that Clover wouldn’t reject his proposal, but his own struggles, coupled with his stage fright and anxiety would probably cause him to stumble somewhere along the line. He wouldn’t be able to recover from a stumble, especially one in front of a crowd.

He thought about asking Raven…ha! As if…

He thought about asking Summer how she would like to be proposed to. She recounted how Taiyang proposed to her. When she woke up one morning, Taiyang was gone, but there was a series of sticky notes all over their apartment with instructions and clues for her to decipher. It essentially took them on a tour of their relationship, and at the end, they met at the same place they had their first date, a public park near the university. Taiyang proposed to her after a lunch made up of all of her favorite foods and desserts.

Qrow never had the guts to tell her originally, but he laughed when Summer said she knew that Qrow was the one who wrote the clues for Taiyang to give to her. As big as his heart was, he lacked confidence in his ability to make a simple treasure hunt, and he turned to Qrow because he thought that Qrow would find a way to make it perfect.

She pitched a few other ideas to Qrow herself, but as their planning went on, he turned down all of her ideas. As good as they were, Qrow wanted something he felt was unique. He wanted something that encompassed who they were, where they came from, and where they were headed. He thought about making a home movie, but that seemed to cheesy, not to mention he was lacking in any technological skills to edit a video of that magnitude. He could write a song, but Qrow would probably forget the lyrics or he’d sing a wrong note and then be too worried to finish going through with the performance.

Taiyang joined them at one point, and he attempted to help them brainstorm. The ideas were all good enough, but they didn’t feel like Qrow and Clover. Some of the ideas were way too expensive and some were way too dependent on the aid of others. Qrow never wanted to make this into a verbal public declaration or flash mob type situation. As they came up with idea after idea, they couldn’t come to a decision. Each of the proposals they thought about felt like some of the fictional couples they wrote about.

Wait a minute.

Fictional couples.

Fiction.

That was it!

He had asked to keep the authors’ notes private, and Clover had agreed!

Qrow would be able to write something in the book as a way to propose! As much of a grand declaration as it would be, something about this just felt right to Qrow.

Originally, he asked to keep the authors’ notes private so that he could come up with some embarrassing note, something in a friendly way to show just what their relationship was, and just how much Clover inspired him, but what if it was something else? What if his author’s note was his proposal? If it were written down like that, there was no way he would mess up in its delivery! Not to mention, they had already agreed to sit down and read the whole book at the earliest opportunity.

Qrow could see it, he and Clover finishing reading the book, only for Clover to discover the proposal at the end of the book? Qrow knew Clover was a fan of his writing, so what if he was able to find a way to propose in his writing as well? It seemed right to him, and so at the earliest possible moment, Qrow would rewrite his author’s note. This time, it would be one to remember.

Summer and Taiyang enthusiastically agreed. They had been Team Grand Gesture from the start, and as much as they were excited about the new book before, they couldn’t wait to see it now. Qrow made them swear to secrecy, even from Raven and the girls, something they reluctantly agreed to, but he couldn’t run the risk of someone accidentally telling Clover about his intention. He wanted this to be a complete surprise, and he would fight to keep it that way.

He drew up draft after draft, erasing each one and retyping something that didn’t quite feel right. After he deleted one particular draft, Clover happened to wander into his office. Qrow quickly shut his laptop and focused on Clover as his beloved spoke. He talked about something one of his students said, and then how much it made him think of Qrow because he thought that Qrow would’ve known exactly what to do in that situation.

Clover’s unwavering faith in Qrow always made him feel liberated. He was so used to a history of distrust and deceit in his relationships. His exes doubted him, and placed doubt in his heart. They made Qrow second guess everything he said and did as a way to control him, to convince him that they were right, and to convince Qrow that their advice and choices were really the only ones that matter. But Clover had been different from the start.

Clover always valued Qrow’s opinions, and more often than not, he would immediately side with and build off of Qrow’s ideas, until they had a solution that they both orchestrated together. In the event that Qrow made a questionable choice or call, Clover would ask Qrow if there were other ways to think about the problems at hand, without directly refuting him. Clover had a way to know that Qrow was really thinking about something, because he only ever flat out said “no” when Qrow was joking in his responses, which were few and far between.

This small action alone always made Qrow feel valued and loved.

Their love was always in the little things, Qrow noticed. The cup of coffee after a long day, the small touches in passing, the simple questions, the lingering looks. Even after they got together, they never really felt the need to take huge steps to declare their love to others. What they had felt grand and monumental between the two of them, but it was their relationship and theirs alone, so they didn’t feel the need to parade it around or invite others to give their thoughts. Of course they told family, but it wasn’t like a gigantic announcement. If anything, everyone was already pleased to see them together, and no one overreacted or blew things out of proportion.

Here and there, someone would ask for inside details about aspects of their relationship, but they never really shared those details. It was something that was between the two of them, and they didn’t want their relationship to be a source of entertainment for others. It existed, and that fact was the only thing they really needed or wanted others to take into consideration when they thought about Qrow and Clover together.

After Clover left Qrow’s apartment, the smile wouldn’t leave Qrow’s face. the enthusiasm in his beloved’s voice, the faith he had in him, the passion he had for his job and making sure that students could succeed. He loved everything about Clover. When he was writing his earlier drafts, he tried to focus on the individual aspects of Clover that he loved. Something that he did that was his favorite little quirk or little reaction, but he realized that even though their love was in the little things, there was no way for him to pick something favorite about Clover.

He loved him.

The safety he felt with Clover allowed him to love him with reckless abandon. He never felt the need to stop and consider what would happen if Clover turned on him, because it was a reality that he eventually phased out of his mind over time. Clover never needed to prove himself to Qrow, even if he originally thought he needed to. If anything, Qrow wanted to prove to Clover that he thought the world of him. He loved Clover completely and tenderly, and with Clover he knew that his well would never run empty.

Knowing this, he wrote.

_Dear Readers,_

_I want to personally thank you for picking up this labor of love. When Mr. Ebi first approached me with the idea of doing a collaborative work, I turned him down. I’m not used to working on things like this, but through his persistence I eventually agreed. The way he talked about the collaboration and the possibilities made it too attractive of a deal for me to pass on, so I wanted to work hard and put my best foot forward for you all to be able to enjoy it._

_This book is, as I’ve already called it, a labor of love, but it’s so much more than that to me. I’ve written about relationships in my novels before, but this time I think I finally found a place to write from where I finally resonated with my words. I wouldn’t have been able to do something like this without Mr. Ebi and his pieces. When I initially approached him with the concept of the call and response, I was scared that he would reject it, but he was completely enthusiastic._

_I think that the story our characters have told is something remarkably close to both of our hearts, as parts of it were inspired by our own experiences. Or…at least a lot of my parts were inspired by our time together. It’s insane when I think about it. He and I have been working together for years, but I never could have imagined just how much this man inspires me, not only in my work but in my everyday life._

_Dearest reader, I wouldn’t have been able to get where I am in my career without the support of you and people like you. Mr. Ebi however is someone whose support I feel I do not deserve half of the time. If this is your first time reading his works, I highly, highly encourage you to support him as well. The man has a talent for poetry I’ve never seen before, and you can feel his enthusiasm every step of the way. He’s so incredibly talented and he’s such a dedicated worker and poet that someone like him should be venerated by the masses._

_It may come as no surprise when I adore him and I lean on him in my everyday life, but what may shock you is that our relationship hasn’t always been a good one. I confess myself wary of others when I first meet them. I’m not exactly the easiest person to meet, and I sure as hell am not the easiest person to get close to, a fault of my own that I work to get past every day. Clover never gave up though. He was always looking out for me, even when it was hard for me to see it. He was always concerned about my well-being and the things I was doing. Was I sleeping enough? Was I getting proper nutrition? Were my habits healthy? Thanks to Clover, I can officially say that I’ve been sober for over a year now, which is something I never thought I’d be able to say._

_And now for something else I thought I’d never be able to say._

_Cloves, if you told me on the first day we met that this is where we would be, I wouldn’t have believed you. A few years ago, I would have just looked the other way any time we passed by each other, because that’s the kind of man I am…or I guess the kind of man I was. Now, instead of avoiding your gaze, I constantly look for it in the halls. My days are always brighter with you in them. Truly you’ve held me up and you’ve supported me in ways I never thought possible, nor did I think I deserved. You’re an incredible man, and every day I feel lucky to be able to count you among my blessings. Blessing isn’t the right word, beloved, because you’re so much more than just a blessing to me._

_I don’t want our days together to ever end. A while ago, I told you that for you I’d be willing to cast aside notions of doubt, but only for you. Look where that’s gotten us. I’m so glad I gave you that chance, and I’m forever grateful for you for never betraying my trust and never giving up on me. Long ago, I couldn’t imagine you in my life in any significant way. But now? Now I can’t imagine you out of it for any reason._

_Clover Ebi, Mr. Perfect, Mr. Prodigal Poet, my moon and my stars, my port in the storm, my beloved…will you marry me?_

* * *

It was early on a Monday morning when Qrow saw boxes outside of both his and Clover’s offices. He quickened his pace towards his room, and lifted the box before practically breaking down the door to his office. As he opened up the box, he smiled. He hadn’t smiled at advanced copies since his first book years ago. None of his other works were as remotely exciting as this one had been. He knew that he originally said he was going to unbox his copies with Clover, but he couldn’t contain his excitement any longer. He had to see them.

He reached down and picked up a copy of the book, slowly stroking his hand across the cover, tracing the images on it as he did so. So much blood, sweat, and tears went into making this book. It was almost overwhelming to see the bound pages in his hand, representative of his journey, not only on his own, but his journey with Clover as well.

The cover was split down the middle. The left half had a black background, while the right half had a white background. On the black side, there was a human-shaped figure made of intricate, loud patterns of crimson lines that jutted out in various ways, while the white side had another human-shaped figure composed of smooth patterns of various green lines, curved and smooth, flowing as if it were leaves in the wind. Their names were written at the bottom, Qrow’s on the left side in black, and Clover’s on the right side in green. Finally, the title was written in a bold, fluid lettering across the top, in the colors used on the opposite half of the cover.

_An Affair of the Body and the Mind._

After a few minutes, Clover walked into his office, a copy of his own in his hand.

“Sorry, I couldn’t wait to see it,” he said.

“Neither could I,” Qrow smiled back.

“Shall we get out of here?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

Qrow and Clover immediately took the rest of the day off to go to their apartment and read their work. When all was said and done, they had written a total of thirty-two works. Each of them wrote sixteen stories or poems, as opposed to the originally agreed upon five, though neither of them really had any room to complain. They had found the idea so attractive of doing a call and response that they cranked out an insane amount of works over the course of the year. They had each written a few more short stories or poems, but those were eventually scrapped, either due to the lack of a response from the other person, or the fact that a stronger pair of works existed.

Each chapter was comprised of two works: the call and the response. Because of the nature of the collaboration, each chapter started with a different author than the previous one. Clover’s poem opened up the book, and his poem was also what concluded it. Qrow had always been a fan of cyclical structure, so he was pleased with the idea of ending the poem with the same author as the starting one.

And so, they started at the beginning.

They started with Clover’s poem.

The one which Qrow had one thought belonged to Blake.

The one which Clover had recited on the study abroad.

The one which always made Qrow’s heart race at a pace unmatched by anything else. And it was no less entertaining this time around.

Even if the rest of Clover’s works were each about something different, there was something about Clover’s tone and his usage of poetic techniques that was almost signature at this point. Over the course of their relationship, Qrow had tried hard to learn more about poetry with each passing day, but now he was able to pick out his beloved’s poems with no effort whatsoever. He could read a piece and within moments know it was Clover’s, a fact that seemed to astound even Clover. It had nothing to do with the fact that Qrow had nearly memorized most of Clover’s poems. No, that couldn’t possibly be it.

They steadily worked through each chapter, stopping after each one to ask questions about choices, and to make comments about favorite parts of the call or the response in turn. Qrow however was avoiding stating an observation he had made while they were still writing the pieces. Even though each of the works was supposed to be an isolated, individual story, they all still felt connected. The characters between some chapters were different, while others took up multiple chapters. Still, a rose by any other name…the story laid itself out in front of them…one which Qrow couldn’t help but notice seemed entirely too familiar.

Of course…maybe that had been part of his plan from the start.

He wanted to attempt to convey just how deeply he felt for Clover.

He wanted to convey what his spoken words often failed to do.

Qrow just hoped that his message was coming across.

They stopped only a few times, twice for bathroom breaks or water breaks, and twice to eat. They tried to read while making lunch, but they eventually gave up, and just settled for resuming their scheduled reads after their plates were clean and their cups were empty. Even in those little moments on breaks though, Qrow and Clover could hardly hold in their admiration for one another. Every pass by one another in the kitchen was accentuated with a soft touch on the arm, or a light kiss.

For Qrow, it was a way for him to confirm that this was all real, that he had Clover in his life still, even after their confession over a year ago, though he knew fundamentally that he didn’t have to doubt his beloved. He’d made great strides in trusting Clover, undoing the naturally hesitant nature instilled in him by James and the others, but they were strides he wouldn’t have been able to make without his beloved’s patience and understanding. Still, Qrow acknowledged that there were still some strides he needed to make on his own. He didn’t want to rely on Clover for everything. He wanted to be strong for his own sake as well.

Every time they sat back down on the couch, they settled into one another, books in hand, glasses on the tips of their noses, and after a few more small kisses, they would delve back into their journey together. Qrow loved listening to Clover read. He was so glad that he got to hear all of the poems straight from the poet’s mouth. As much as he had studied, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to properly read all of the inflections and the emotions behind the words. As always, Clover’s readings left him shaken to his very core, but always wanting the next one with an even more intense desire.

Still, they forged on. When Clover took the opportunity to go to the bathroom after dinner, Qrow snuck into their office and retrieved the little box from the bottom drawer of his desk. With fast hands, he slipped it into his sweatshirt pocket. He was careful to wear a sweatshirt large enough so that the pocket would hide any bulge the box could possibly give off. When he returned to the living room, Clover still wasn’t present, so he took the opportunity to properly hide the ring under a pillow on the couch…just in case the sweatshirt wasn’t enough to hide the ring box.

Qrow let out a few shaky breaths and stilled himself as he heard Clover emerge from the bathroom, a plain smile on his face, but one that faltered just slightly.

Qrow wondered if Clover was feeling well. He knew sometimes his beloved liked to hide how he was doing from Qrow, but he trusted Clover enough to tell him if something was really up. No, this face wasn’t something serious. It was just one of hesitation. Maybe he was nervous about how Qrow would react to the rest of his poems? He was sure he’d love them, but he could understand the sentiment. He was still worried with each piece he read that Clover would express displeasure or a dislike, but that opinion never came. Not even after the last chapter.

“Well, I think we can be proud of what we made,” Qrow said, a tear in his eye as Clover read the final words of the final chapter.

“I think it’s amazing,” Clover nodded, pulling Qrow a little closer to him on the couch. Qrow leaned into Clover and rested his head on the man’s chest as he breathed in deeply. Qrow wasn’t entirely sure if it was Clover’s heart or his own that he heard hammering in his ears. He swallowed deeply before opening his mouth to speak. The words died once, so he gave it another go.

“Only one thing is left,” Qrow said. He forced a smile before looking Clover in the eyes. “It’s time for you to read my author’s note. I’m warning you; I embarrassed the hell out of you.”

“Oh really? Well I bet you didn’t embarrass me as much as I embarrassed you!”

“There’s nothing for me to be embarrassed about,” Qrow scoffed.

“Baby bird, I saw you put down a cup you were washing to answer the door and mistake it for your own coffee cup,” Clover laughed. “As I recall, you really didn’t like the taste of that dishwater.”

“What about you being a baby about scary movies?” Qrow poked Clover in the chest. “I’m never letting you live that down, love.”

“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Clover smiled. “They’re called ‘scary movies’ for a reason. But I’m sure that everyone would love to hear about the times I find the esteemed Dr. Branwen asleep on the couch in my office, using my coat as a blanket.”

“What can I say, my boyfriend’s jackets are comfortable,” Qrow shrugged, pretending to pout.

“I’m never seeing another one of those again, am I?”

“Nope.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yup.”

“Is your name Mr. One Word?”

“Fuck you!” Qrow laughed, kissing Clover along his jawline a few times before peppering his face with smaller, more playful kisses. “I get it, we both embarrassed each other, but for real, you should read the note.”

“I will, but you need to read mine first,” Clover said after clearing his throat.

“You said yours was more embarrassing. It tracks that you should read mine first then so we can figure out afterwards if yours is worse or not,” Qrow said as he shifted his weight. Gods, he just couldn’t get comfortable right now. He leaned back into Clover who placed an arm around him, and the mother of all staring contests ensued.

“Qrow…”

“Mhm?”

“Are we really doing this right now?”

“Yup. And if you lose, you read mine first.”

“You’re so on…”

Qrow saw Clover.

He saw many things in the man he loved. He saw a confident man who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, but who knew when it was best to hold back. He saw a reliable friend who would be there for him when he needed it, and who Qrow would always strive to be there for when he could. He saw an idea lover, the kind of man that Qrow always dreamed about falling in love with and running away with, but one he never thought existed until now.

Qrow saw Clover.

He saw where they used to be. Two professors, both masters of different literary arts. He saw how they used to dance circles around one another, always avoiding the truth, being polite in public, and keeping their distance from one another. But now Qrow saw that that wasn’t the truth. He saw his own reluctance and hesitation, things that Clover was able to break down and help him work through with a significant amount of time, love, and the utmost of patience he never thought he deserved.

Qrow saw Clover.

He saw how his feelings morphed from distrust, to curiosity, and before he knew it, he was head over heels in love with the man he once thought was out to take his job. He saw the doubts and the sorrow he used to hold in his own heart, thinking that it was a dream better forgotten on waking up rather than remembering throughout his days. He remembered the fear he used to hang onto, thinking that the “beloved” Clover wrote the letters for was someone else. He so plainly saw the depth of their admiration and care for one another.

Qrow saw Clover.

He saw their future together, or at least that’s what he would call it, since there wasn’t a single memory he wanted to make without Clover. He saw them at holidays with the rest of Qrow’s loud family, and Clover fitting right in by keeping an eye out on everyone and balancing the joking with his responsible nature. He saw them at holidays in Atlas with Daisy, a quiet night around a full dinner table, and potentially working some days in the shop to help her out. All of his life, Qrow thought himself alone, on a solitary path, heading nowhere quickly, and with no companion on that slippery slope. But now, Qrow couldn’t imagine a path that didn’t lead back to Clover, no path where Clover wasn’t matching him step for step. The man he once dreamed about in his youth would be jealous to see the man Qrow had by his side now.

Qrow blinked.

As did Clover.

They both looked at each other again, in silence, nodding in acknowledgement of their draw.

“So…same time?”

“Same time.”

Qrow flipped the page to find Clover’s note, and stared up at his beloved, who was staring back at him.

“You’re not reading.”

“Neither are you.”

“We should fix that.”

Qrow lowered his head, but his eyes immediately flicked back up to find Clover still staring at him.

“Cloves, come on,” Qrow sighed. “Same time.”

“Okay…you win,” Clover’s shoulders fell. “And we’re both reading…now.”

Neither man looked down at the book in their hands.

“This is a little ridiculous now,” Qrow laughed. “Fine, I’m actually going to read your note, and I would appreciate it if you would do the same for me.”

“Anything for you, baby bird.”

“That anything right now would be to read.”

“So read I shall.”

Qrow smiled at his beloved, who smiled back at him one last time, before finally turning his attention to the page. He gave the speediest of peeks to see if Clover was reading, and he saw his beloved mouthing the words he knew by heart at this point, confirming that he was. That was something Qrow loved about Clover, he liked watching him read. It was almost as if it were a full body experience. He was sure that Clover would act out every action in a book if he had the space and energy to do so.

Either way, Qrow looked down at the book in his own hands and began to read.

As he read, his jaw dropped, and tears started forming in his eyes.

_Hello everyone,_

_Thank you for picking up a copy of_ An Affair of the Body and the Mind _, a collaborative work that was a labor of love for Mr. Branwen and myself. For legacy fans of my work, I want to thank you for your continued support, and if this is your first time reading my poems because of Mr. Branwen, I hope I was able to make something you enjoyed. Or at least I hope you would consider it thought-provoking._

_I’ve been doing poetry for many years now. When I was younger, I was actually inspired to write because of Mr. Branwen. There are many things that I could have never imagined at the start of my career. I had no idea what leaving the military would do to me as I set out to pursue a career in writing. I had no idea what kind of reception my work would get, especially since I was largely unknown, and didn’t ever really compete in literary contests to gain exposure. I had no idea the kinds of trials and tribulations I would have to endure when I started this path._

_What I did know is that I would always look to Mr. Branwen for inspiration._

_Many of my works have poems that are inspired by his own works, as there’s something about his way with words that has so wholly and unequivocally commanded my intense reverence. I never had doubts that this man would be able to write for the gods with his natural talent and mysterious persona._

_Getting to know Qrow over the past few years has been a pleasure of mine, my dear reader. I’m happy to say that as a long-time fan, but recent friend, he’s so much more than what I thought he was. It was difficult for me at first to approach him because I realized that I had placed him on a pedestal and idealized him in my own way. I had done this so much so that it was exceedingly challenging to see past my own expectations of him, but I found a man who is infinitely more interesting and amazing than any of the works he has produced._

_Don’t get me wrong, I think his work is incredible. In fact, working on this piece with him is an absolute dream come true for me, but even for my extensive vocabulary…I find myself at a loss for words when I describe Qrow._

_Okay, so maybe I never removed my rose-tinted glasses. If anything, I think that the shade of my lenses has only grown more passionate with the years. Before, I thought the world of his works. They helped me get through the tough times in my life, they made me think about subjects in new ways, and they were able to draw emotions from me that the work of no other has been able to evoke._

_But now I think the world of him. He is my light in the darkest night, my fire in the coldest storm, and an oasis in the desert. I found him, and I’d like to think that he found me in a way. We consider ourselves excessively lucky to have met one another, and hopefully I was able to convey just how much Qrow means to me in my pieces in this book._

_Qrow, I speak to you directly now._

_I love you._

_I love you so much, that I would hang stars in the void if you asked me to, just to light your way back home. I would walk to the ends of the earth for you if it meant that I could see your dreams fulfilled. You’ve done so much for me over the years, and I’ve tried to offer assistance in any way I can. If you will permit me to though, I would like to be selfish, just this once. I have one request of you, and I would be overjoyed to hear you say yes to my proposal._

_Qrow Branwen, baby bird, master of words, light of my life, beloved…will you marry me?_

His head snapped up towards Clover, who did the exact same thing, a bewildered expression on his face.

“Did…did you just…”

“Did…did we just…”

Qrow and Clover both reach behind the pillows on the opposite sides of the couch, and each pulled out a small box. In unison, they opened the lids of the boxes and held them out to one another. Inside the identical boxes were similar rings, though the actual pattern of the gold and white gold were inverse on the ring in Clover’s hands. They stared at each other, then the boxes, then each other, and before they knew it, they were holding each other, kissing each other repeatedly, mouthing “Yes! Of course!” over and over again.

Qrow and Clover both fumbled as they in turn took each other’s hands and slipped the ring on the appropriate finger. Once the rings were on, they both looked at their own hand, before gently holding their beloved fiancé’s face, and crashing together for kiss after kiss.

They cried.

They kissed.

They laughed.

They stayed as close as possible.

Breathless, minutes later, Qrow finally spoke up.

"Just our luck, right?"

“So, does this mean I’m Qrow Ebi now?”

“If it’s okay with you,” Clover replied. “I think Clover Branwen sounds lovely.”

“Clover Branwen…I rather like the sound of that,” Qrow beamed, dotting Clover’s face with a few more light kisses. “I like the sound of that a lot.”

“Oh! I almost forgot! I had something planned if you said yes!” Clover exclaimed as he jumped off of the couch and ran to the kitchen. Qrow looked over, attempting to see what Clover was doing to no avail. He heard a lout popping sound of a cork, and he saw the door to the fridge open and close. A few moments later, Clover returned with what looked like two champagne flutes full of a bubbling liquid, and some chocolate covered strawberries. “It’s sparkling white grape cider and your favorites, though I don’t know how well the two will go together.”

Qrow took the flute from Clover’s extended hand and clinked it together with Clover’s glass before taking a sip. Years ago, he used to laugh about the prospect of drinking sparkling grape cider, but now he saw how wrong it was. Clearly it was superior to sparkling apple cider. As he set his glass down on a coaster, he turned back to find Clover holding a chocolate covered strawberry at mouth height, which he happily bit into, humming his approval.

“And here I thought I had everything planned…I should have gotten you something,” Qrow chuckled, but he was cut off before he could continue by Clover’s soft lips on his own. Qrow could taste the faint traces of chocolate and strawberry juice as he licked his lips when they finally parted.

“You’ve already given me everything I’ve ever wanted.”

* * *

The first thing Qrow noticed was the faint scent of cologne, and it wasn’t his own. No, his was usually sweeter, something akin to lavender. Of course, with how often he was found around the library and the books in his office, he was no longer sure how much of the smell he wore was his own cologne and how much was the aged pages he loved to browse through in his spare time. No, this one was some kind of smokier scent, full-bodied, gently coaxing him to open his eyes, but he wouldn’t give in quite yet. As he laid on his side, he inhaled slowly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as the cologne enveloped him with a warming sensation.

There was no slight throbbing in his head. He used to feel so completely exhausted waking up, as if he had never truly rested, and sometimes the headaches when he woke up were unbearable. But after a few visits to the doctor’s and working on the prescribed regimen, Qrow’s sleep had been more restful and fulfilling nowadays, more so than it had ever been. Still, he didn’t feel like opening his eyes. If the gods were nice to him, it would still be early morning so that he wasn’t blinded, but he wasn’t quite ready to take that chance.

The second thing Qrow noticed was the sheets. He was so glad that they weren’t his old ones either. Qrow’s former fitful sleeping, accompanied by all of the tossing and turning would have caused him to kick them off long before now. His old sheets were scratchy and uncomfortable, but they got the job done…sometimes. No, these ones were a much higher thread count, and they caressed and cradled every inch of his nearly naked body. They felt cool as they tickled his skin, a quality of life change he didn’t know he needed. If Qrow knew that sleeping could have been this comfortable this entire time, he would have sprung for sheets like these a lot sooner. Thank the gods someone had enough brains to show him the proper way to go about bedsheet shopping. There was a warmth Qrow could feel, but it didn’t come from the sheets.

The third thing Qrow noticed was the man. As Qrow shifted his weight, he heard movement at his back, and the hand that had been casually draped over his waist began to snake around and pull him in. Bare skin gently met his back, and with a soft thud, he felt a forehead resting on the back of his neck. The man behind him hummed quietly, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy with sleep.

“Hmmm,” he groaned, inhaling sharply before yawning out the next few words. “What time is it?”

Qrow’s eyes barely flickered open as the heavy voice sent a wave of euphoria through his body. He looked towards the side of the bed where his wallet, cellphone, and a clock made their nightly home. He leaned forward, feeling the arm around his waist go lax, as the red numbers proudly declared that the time was 6:45 AM.

“Too early to be awake…” Clover muttered, closing his eyes, and letting out another yawn.

“Then let’s go back to sleep,” the Qrow proposed. Slipping another arm underneath Qrow, Clover cradled his chest and pulled the two flush against one another. Qrow sighed as he practically melted into his beloved’s embrace. Calloused hands, yet smooth skin elsewhere. A strong physique held him firmly, yet as though he were fragile at the same time. Qrow let out a dreamlike sigh of approval as he felt soft lips gently press against the back of his neck, working their way to the side. Each lazy kiss felt like it was whispered into Qrow, a secret that only the two of them would share. As wayward lips continued to kiss the faint freckles on Qrow’s neck, the hand on his chest splayed. The thumb rubbed circles on his chest.

“Not now, beloved,” Qrow chuckled as he took a hold of the hand with one of his own. “We have to get ready to go to class. It’s only Tuesday.”

Qrow turned over and brushed some stray hairs out of Clover’s sleepy face. As he brought his hand up, he took one look at the ring around his finger, and he felt a smile creep onto his face. He brought his hand back down and placed it on Clover’s bare chest, right over his heart. He leaned forward and claimed Clover’s lips in a tender kiss, one which Clover hummed into with approval. Despite how natural the kisses had grown to feel over the course of their relationship, every single one still had the same emotional weight for Qrow as the first time they kissed after their confessions. Sometimes, he thought about how much he loved Clover, and his chest would swell so much that he’d be light on his feet for the rest of the week. Starting every morning in the arms of his beloved boyfriend…no…his fiancé…his husband-to-be…that was where Qrow belonged.

“I’m going to make some breakfast for us, so why don’t you go wash up and get ready?”

“You’re cooking?” Clover smiled against Qrow’s lips as he greedily leaned in for another kiss. “I’m the luckiest man in the world, my fiancé loves me so much.”

“He would only be cooking for you if he thought you felt the same way about him,” Qrow chuckled. “So tell me, beloved, eggs benedict, or avocado toast?”

“I’ll take the toast, thanks,” Clover yawned. He blinked the tiredness out of his eyes, before opening them to properly look at Qrow. “Gods…do you ever get tired of running through my mind all night long? You must be absolutely exhausted, yet here you are, looking perfect every morning.

“You should know,” Qrow smiled, caressing Clover’s cheek. “I wake up and see you and think I’m still in a dream, because there’s no way someone like you exists in the real world.”

“Does this convince you?” Clover smirked, leaning in for yet another kiss, but stopping just shy of Qrow’s lips. Qrow cocked his eyebrow, and a wicked smirk crossed Clover’s face as he suddenly reached forward and started tickling Qrow’s sides, earning a surprised shout from Qrow. “Am I real now, love?”

“Ahaha you’ve made your poin-AH!!! Clover, I can’t take it!” Qrow yelped under the weight of Clover’s merciless tickling. “You’re real! You’re real!”

“Of course I am,” Clover laughed. He surged forward in Qrow’s disarmed state to plant one final kiss on the side of his beloved’s face. A blush crept across Qrow’s face at the gentleness of the kiss. “It’s you who’s the dream. Even with all of my luck, I never thought I could be this lucky to have you in my life.”

“You may come to reconsider that stance after I make you breakfast,” Qrow chuckled. “Now it’s time to get going.”

Qrow sat on the edge of the bed and stuck his feet in each of the legs of the discarded pajama bottoms sitting on the floor. With a pull, he tugged the hem up to his waist, and tied the drawstring before standing up fully. He turned back one more time to see Clover propped up on one elbow in the bed. He reached down and caressed Clover’s cheek with his palm, until his fingers slid under his chin. He tilted Clover’s chin upwards to get a better angle to kiss him.

“You better be showered by the time I’m done,” Qrow instructed.

“Yes sir,” Clover chuckled.

“Oh, and Clover?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, Jelly here! I want to thank you all for embarking on this 5 month long journey with me! This concludes the end of the MAIN story of "An Affair of the Body and the Mind"! I know I originally said there would be more chapters, but I still had some difficulty figuring out how to make them flow seamlessly, so instead I have a new solution, one which I hope you will enjoy and look forward to. I will be talking about it more on my tumblr page, so you can find the details there. There's a few things I want to talk about with regards to my decisions, so please tune into that post or feel free to send me questions directly if you have them. It'll help me figure out how to structure the post.
> 
> As for the chapter itself, this was honestly one of the first chapters I wrote so long ago. I've been sitting on this since January, for real. Of course, it's been rewritten countless times, but this was always how I wanted their proposal to go. I hope you all enjoyed the proposal too!
> 
> Seriously though. I could not have gotten this far without all of your support. I'm touched and completely overwhelmed. When I started writing this fic, I really had no way to predict that it would get this big! Every time I see people talk about it, or any time someone tells me how it made them feel, I'm so overwhelmed with happiness. I really wanted this to be something special, even if it was something small, even if no one ended up reading it. I wanted to make something to show how much Fair Game meant to me, an mlm. Even in the face of everything that's happened, I know that there are so many people out there like me who wanted the representation and the potential they had to be a truly wholesome couple that represented a group of people in a way that we've never really seen...if I could do anything to help those who felt robbed of the representation mlm like myself were craving, I wanted to help. To everyone who enjoyed my story and who has supported me, I offer you my sincerest gratitude. I truly mean it when I say I could not have finished this story without you.
> 
> I want to give a special shout out to my beta reader. They've been an insanely close friend of mine for years, and honestly I'm glad I went on this journey with them. They really helped me work out the rough patches in my story, and they were more than flexible when I would text them at 1 in the morning talking about rewrites. Love you, friendo, you're amazing!
> 
> Thank you all so much, and I hope you look forward to more content coming soon from the alternate universe I've created, as more is on the way!
> 
> Deepest love from a humbled author,  
> Smol Jelly ♥


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